Shadowchasers: Quality of Life
by 0ccam's Razor
Summary: Hidden for years from Mundane eyes, the secrets of the city of Cauldron are about to be unveiled. What mysteries lie in this secluded Shadows-only enclave? And how do the Shadowchasers factor in? The first part of the ongoing "Shadowchasers: Shackled City" by Occam's Razor!
1. Old Wounds

_Hello _fellow fanfic fanatics, and welcome to "Shadowchasers: Shackled City"!

Now, before you say, "What the hell, Occam? The title I clicked on said "Shadowchasers: Quality of Life"! Well, to be brief, it's both.

See, as I have said many times, "Shadowchasers" has grown at a rate I never expected. When I first laid the groundwork for this franchise, critics were saying the Yu-Gi-Oh game was a flash-in-the-pan fad that wouldn't last past the next holiday season. (To be fair, of course, these same critics were saying the same thing about _Pokemon, Power Rangers, _and _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_) and the website I originally posted these fics on is defunct.

After all the world building, it would seem a shame if I deserted the franchise entirely, but I started to feel I'd become a one-trick pony with a fic based on a card game and wanted to write something different. So, I decided to write a fic that would explore the Shadowchasers world _without _depending on the card game.

Now, don't everyone worry too much, because "Shackled City" will still have a few card battle duels here and there, but again, the overall fic will do its best to show more creativity.

Now, "Shackled City" is not one fic (at least I don't intend it to be) but rather several small ones. I expect "Quality of Life" to be about five or six chapters and will comprise Part One of an overall story. Fans of Shadowchasers might remember the three protagonists here, and I plan to have other familiar faces show up later, but not all at once. Should anyone else have favorites they want to see again, then by all means, make suggestions.

Now, I must give credit where credit is due. Much like "Shadowchasers: Torment", "Shackled City" is an adaptation of a previously published _Dungeons and Dragons _module. Fans old enough to remember _Dungeon Adventures _"Adventure Paths" might recognize the general theme of the plot, but I hope to have added enough originality to keep everyone guessing.

Thus, I would like to thank Jesse Decker, James Jacobs, Tith Leati, David Noonan, Christopher Perkins, Chris Thomasson, and Wizards of the Coast Overall for designing the city of Cauldron and its many bizarre characters, from which I was able to draw inspiration.

Now… Let's get started….

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**Shadowchasers **

**Shackled City**

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Lightning flashed amid a sky of blood-red clouds.

The armored knight stood before an ominous cathedral made of bones and black rock. The gothic-style was very much like the friendlier, hospitable churches the knight remembered, but if it had ever been such, it had been desecrated, cursed, and corrupted into a horrific place of debauchery, profanity, and blasphemy.

The knight made a swift kick, the doors crashing open inward. Darkness greeted the hero, along with screams, sobs, and demonic laughter.

The first step within was almost the knight's last, as the floor crumbled underneath; a quick lunge for the ledge saved the hero from tumbling into the dark abyss below. Scrambling upward, a click and a rush of air told the knight to dodge, doing so before razor-sharp blades embedded in the wall behind.

"_**Wisdom, Zeal, Honesty, Integrity, Discipline, Honor, and Loyalty. These are your staunchest allies, your most potent weapons against lawlessness and Evil."**_

The knight dashed across the dark hallway, even as blades swung from the ceiling and spires pierced upward through the floor. A spinning rotary blade blocked the entrance to the main sepulcher, but the knight still pressed on, timing a jump and diving through, tumbling into the larger room and leaping unto a fighting stance.

Curran.

In the center of the vast chamber, illuminated by candelabras that shrouded the temple's walls with flickering shadows, the Ebon Magician languished. Her hood and dress were torn and dirty, and her hands were shackled to the floor. Surrounding her was a pentagram with lit candles placed on every point. She sobbed softly.

She looked up a little, trembling as the knight approached. The knight slowly removed her helmet; her soft smile and gentle eyes wordlessly urged the Ebon Magician to calm herself…

...and then the pentagram disappeared, Curran with it. More fiendish laughter echoed through the chamber.

"_**Your foes see them as foreign terms. They know what these words mean, but not the truth behind them. To these villains, such words are naught but tools used to deceive and manipulate others."**_

A sickening flash of green light illuminated the room, and the knight saw the entire chamber in full. Corpses of all types had been crucified, nailed to the walls. Many were skeletal and some were only slightly decomposed, but many clearly met this grisly end only a day before. Some were human, some were Shadowkind, some were Duel Spirits, and _many _of them wore the same style armor the knight did.

She also saw the lord of this horrid domicile, the orchestrator of these atrocities. Seated on a throne at the far end was a muscular demon with a bestial face, crowned by huge, curving horns. Curran was at his feet, sobbing more than ever.

As the knight drew her sword, Reign-Beaux, Overlord of Dark World stood up to his full twelve-foot height, letting forth a bellow that shook the entire cathedral. The knight charged the fiend, plunging her sword into the foul beast's gizzard.

Nothing. Reign-Beaux didn't seem hurt in the least. She looked up to see him looking at her with a low, throaty chuckle.

In the next instant, his fist slammed into her chin, and an instant after _that, _his other fist met her jaw and she was knocked prone, skidding from him on her back. She looked up to see him yank the sword from his torso, then casually toss it aside as the wound quickly healed and his acidic blood reduced the weapon to a pile of sludge. She barely managed to roll to avoid his cloven hoof as he stomped down, cracking the floor in an attempt to crush her.

The knight spit on the ground, spitting up blood and a tooth. She looked up, and Reign-Beaux grunted in disgust, then lifted his right hand, producing his own weapon, a long military fork with a golden, serrated blade. He pointed it, unholy power coursing from his hands into the shaft, and then into the tips…

The knight was about to close her eyes and accept death… But then she realized he wasn't aiming for her.

Mustering strength she never realized she had, she leapt to her feet, dashing towards Curran and shielding her. Screams came from the knight and the Ebon Magician as the potent blow of dark magic ripped her armor apart.

"_**If you can master your fear, outsmart your enemy, and never yield, even to your own doubts, you will be changed forever."**_

She collapsed to her knees, the cruel demon's laughter ringing in her ears. Her hand closed around something as she struggled to get up. A shaft. A shaft of a weapon. She seized it, and energizing power flowed through her.

Grabbing hold of the Mace with both hands, she turned to face her foe again, even as Reign-Beaux now stood nearly twice as large as before. It didn't matter. She charged at him; his roar of bloodlust nearly drowned out by her own battlecry. The Mace swung, and the fork was torn from the demon's hands. Blow after blow followed, until the demon howled, and then crumbled into particles of fiery cinders and ash.

The knight fell on one knee; Curran staggered towards her, still crying a little, and hugged her gently.

"_**As a Hand of St. Cuthbert, you will find that Justice makes for a harsh master, but one you can make into your loyal servant. Wield it strong to defend the innocent and punish the guilty, but always temper it with mercy."**_

Nichole returned the hug and closed her eyes, as light slowly started to replace the darkness…

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**Quality of Life**

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**Part One**

**Old Wounds**

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BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ

The sound of her alarm clock ringing as it hit 7AM slowly brought Nichole to the waking world. She gasped a little, sat up, and felt her chest…

_The dream, _she thought.

No scars, no bleeding, she still had all her teeth, and she was wearing her pajamas. Not armor. It was the dream again, the dream she had every few weeks. It always took a few seconds of being awake before she was sure it hadn't been real. Still, with the relief that came with waking up, so too came a small amount of disappointment.

She slumped on her back again. She'd been having that dream for years. Curran wasn't always the one she had to rescue - often it was Pikeru, the Unhappy Maiden, or any of the Charmers - and Reign-Beaux wasn't always her foe - Dark Ruler Ha Des and Vennominaga were common - but those _words… _They had always remained constant. Donnie - as in, Donovan Sinclair, the founder of St. Cuthbert's House - had told them to her the day she was formally initiated. The day she swore her life and soul to the dogma of St. Cuthbert. It was amazing, really, that the guy in charge could make time to speak to lowly initiates as often as he did.

As she sat up, the morning sun streaming in the window of her room in the Chicago penthouse, she noticed something odd in the air. Something like…

_Cinnamon? _

She grabbed her bathrobe and followed the delicious smell into the kitchen. "Francis!" she exclaimed.

"Hey there, sunshine!" he said. The sizzling from the stove confirmed what she had noticed: cinnamon French toast. Along with bacon and scrambled eggs.

"Since when do _you _make breakfast?" asked Nichole. She sat at the table, with a suspicious smirk on her face. "Where's Bartholomew?"

"At the dentist, remember? Dugan went with him, you know, cause 'misery loves company'? But don't worry, I got this."

"Any particular reason you're making _that?" _asked Nichole. She hadn't had cinnamon French toast in years, not since she was twelve in fact….

"Don't worry, Marc didn't give me your mom's recipe." He piled the food onto a plate with a spatula. "He mentioned how much you like this, and I found this recipe online. Go on, try it, I'm sure your mom told you a few times that breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Nichole sighed a little. She had, but usually "breakfast" when her mom was cooking was oatmeal or regular toast. Her cinnamon French toast was a luxury she and Marc had, at most, once a month. So much had happened in her life, it was hard to fathom that she was still young, still a "growing girl". Still, Francis' French toast seemed decent.

She made a snarky smile. "You know, I think you told me once that you'd never cook for any girl other than the one you intended to marry."

Francis coughed and choked. She turned towards a pile of envelopes on the table. "Is that the mail?" she asked.

He cleared his throat with a loud cough. "Yep, lesse. Phone bill, letter to 'Occupant', catalogue, letter from someone named Gregor."

This time, Nichole started to cough, and far more loudly and violently, and dropped her fork and napkin on the floor trying to stifle it.

"What, you okay?" asked Francis. Nichole took long gulps of her orange juice. "What?"

"Nothing, uh, just went down the wrong tube there." She grabbed the letter quickly, and her hand quivered.

"Who's Gregor?" he asked.

"Pen pal," she said quickly. Then she kissed him on the cheek with a quicker "Thanks for breakfast!" and rushed back into her room.

"Weird…" he muttered. He picked up the envelope, noting that the corner had a special _Stamp of Delivery,_ a magical type of postage that could send a letter anywhere on the globe in under a day. No return address, however.

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Two hours later.

Nichole was at a PC in the den, holding her mobile phone to her ear with her shoulder while typing and alternating between four websites.

"No, no, Rick, I said 'Cauldron', you know, like 'Kettle'? I assume it's a town or something, but I don't know exactly where, there was no return address. No, I don't have a zip code either."

"Nichole, is there something you want to tell me?"

She froze as Francis came in, then sighed, regretting she didn't go to her own room to do this.

"Uh, Rick, I'll call you back," she said, and hung up the phone. "Nothing, Francis, Greg is an… old friend."

Francis almost laughed at the _very _old excuse which she could tell was hard to believe. He leaned over her shoulder and looked at the main screen and the pinned sites.

"Amtrak schedule, Chicago O'Hare schedule, travel agency…. And the international directory? Nichole, who is this guy? Is he in trouble?"

Nichole didn't answer but pushed the letter on the desk towards him. He picked it up, noting it had been handwritten with an old-fashioned quill pen.

_Dearest Nichole,_

_I hope you and everyone at the soup kitchen remain in good health and that your standing in the Shadowchasers remains strong. Much has happened since I arrived in Cauldron all those years ago, far too much to explain in one letter._

_I apologize for distancing myself for so long, and to my regret, I only contact you now as a request for aid, as my options are quickly becoming depleted. A crisis has come up where I fear innocents may be threatened, and possibly by worse fates than death. I realize that your vow to repay my favor was made at least partially in jest and under stressful conditions, but I hoped you could consider overlooking such details. I now need a favor from you. Badly._

_If you choose to come, the tickets I have provided should allow you and three others with a minimum of fuss from the constabulary. Come as soon as possible, as I believe time is essential, I'll send someone you know to meet the train at the station for the next three days. Hopefully he can be there to greet you. _

_Honor and Glory to St. Cuthbert. _

_Gregory_

"Rather… eloquent." Of course, he really had no idea what "eloquent" truly meant, but it seemed the right word.

"He always was," said Nichole, shaking her head. "These were in the letter."

The four odd tickets had "VIP Admit One: Entrance to Cauldron" written on each, again seemingly done with a quill pen. But the tickets themselves were not ordinary paper; Francis recognized it as the special parchment used to make scrolls. The ink seemed to be silver and almost fluid. He felt like he was holding something fragile and was nervous about ruining it.

"Looks like something you'd use to get on the Hogwarts Express."

"That's not a bad comparison."

_Uh oh, busted… _thought Nichole, at the all-too familiar voice behind them. She chuckled nervously as both turned around. "Uh, hi Dugan," she said with a smirk, "how's Bartholomew?"

The leader of the Chicago Shadowchasers branch was no less intimidating now than he was the day she'd met him, and the expression he had now seemed one of both concern and worry. He met with no objections as he reached forward and picked up the letter. "In his room holding ice against his mouth," he answered, "which gives ample time for some explaining. I thought you said Greg was in Afghanistan."

"You know the guy?" asked Francis.

"We met _once."_

"Dugan, seriously," Nichole stammered, "Donnie _told _us to tell you that. Well, he told us to tell that to anyone who asked. He gave -" She caught herself. As much as it pained her, there were some secrets of St. Cuthbert's House, she wasn't allowed to tell anyone, and she could sense Dugan knew she was trying to hide one.

"Gregory's own mentor was entrusted by Donnie with something valuable, and both were transferred. Donnie told most everyone that they went to do missionary work Afghanistan and told a few members - like me - that it was a ruse that we were supposed to maintain. I guess he figured it was a statement that would be hard for anyone to check. Donnie also said that he himself couldn't say where Donnie was going - 'wasn't his place' to do so, he claimed - but said Greg would tell me at, well -"

"Let me guess, he said 'Greg will tell you when the time is right'," added Francis. "Why are great fonts of wisdom always dispensed so cryptically?"

"It's a mystery, Francis," mumbled Dugan. He didn't turn to see whether they "got" the joke, he had pulled up a chair and was reading the letter carefully. "Four VIP tickets to Cauldron. Quite a pricey gift for someone bound by a vow of poverty…"

"What are you implying?" snapped Nichole.

"I'm implying that Greg either used his life savings to buy these tickets or he has a rich family he's kept secret. Four VIP tickets aren't something a church buys out of collection plate donations. That must be some favor you owe him."

"Hold on, hold on," started Francis. "Back up. Where is Cauldron?"

Dugan reached over and started typing on the computer until an atlas of Africa came on the screen, then he zoomed in for a larger view of the continent's east coast. "See here where Madagascar is?" He moved the mouse up until it was about an inch east of the line that marked 40 Longitude and an inch north of the equator. "It's around here."

"So, Cauldron is a town on an island?" asked Nichole.

"Technically, it's the capital city of a sovereign island state, which is also called Cauldron. It's not on many maps Mundane humans can access."

Nichole blinked twice, stunned by this revelation. "There's an _entire country _that only Shadows know about?"

Dugan nodded. "It's kind of like Backwater, but the folks there, well, they value privacy."

"Oh, I see," said Francis, with a snarky grin, "it's a private enclave full of rich snobs who don't like 'commoners' coming in and bothering them."

Dugan stood up. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

The two younger Shadowchasers could only think about this as Dugan went to a bookshelf with a specific book on his mind. "To paraphrase what Jalal told me about the place, Cauldron is 'something the world's most materialistic Quaker would love'. A place full of merchants, land barons, blue bloods, celebrity recluses, socialites, debutantes, and even some exiled royals. But very few _actual _royals."

"Is it some sort of tax haven?" asked Francis.

"You bet, but most folks who live there just want to be away from the rest of the world, because the rest of the world wants them to _stay _away, for one reason or another." He opened the book, showing a set of photographs of a strange city with odd buildings on an inward-curved slope, the architecture resembling early Victorian. "While it's got its fair share of Awares and 'regular' Shadows, many residents are the Shadowtouched type. Tieflings, aasimar, genasi, half-fey, and even rarer types. Doesn't surprise me much that St. Cuthbert's House has a presence there. Many Shadows try to go there simply out of a desire to be themselves. Simply visiting the place is difficult, and they're very picky about who they let _live _there."

"Well it's not like I want to _move _there, Dugan!" exclaimed Nichole. "Greg _did _tell me he wouldn't send something like this unless he was _really _in trouble, and -"

"I'm not saying 'no', Nichole, but for Greg to go to _this _much expense is just odd."

"Yeah, what did he do that you owe him a favor for?" asked Francis. "I take it this is bigger than promising to take out the garbage or -"

"He stopped me from killing myself."

The glum tone of Nichole's statement caused both her colleges to go silent. She took a deep breath and went on.

"I told you about how Sven came to our apartment after Marc was arrested, with his phony apology."

"Yeah, that was the night you started seeing the Shadows," added Francis.

'Sven's true form wasn't exactly the most welcoming sight," she said with a nod. "It only got worse from there. The next morning, I went down to Old Tape's store to get mom coffee, and I saw that Tape himself had pointed ears and violet skin. I'd known the man since I was five! Some nice folks noticed I was screaming and tried to comfort me; one of _them _was a gnoll!"

"Come on, Nichole, we all went through that. And a week later after you figured out how it worked, you spent a whole day writing apology letters, right?"

"A _month _later, Francis. It took me a little longer to, ahem, 'figure out how it worked'. See, Marc was in jail, and without him, mom didn't have much income. Sven made an 'offer', but it wasn't a request. I'd join him or starve. It was all too much. I decided to take a different option and went to a place to buy sleeping pills."

"Who the hell sells _that _to a 12-year-old?"

Nichole laughed nervously. "This was the Hive, Francis, it's pretty easy to get _anything _a kid shouldn't have if you've got enough cash. All you need to figure out is what stores have the least honest employees and what shifts they're on.

"But I was lucky that day. The store had a far more honest stock clerk who noticed and realized a twelve-year old girl had only one reason to buy them."

"Gregory?" asked Dugan.

Nichole nodded. "He was only an initiate of St. Cuthbert then, didn't have much authority or training, but he'd been a Good Samaritan all his life. And he was almost too late. I was unconscious when he found me, but while his skills with divine magic couldn't purge poison from someone's system, he could do enough to delay the onset until paramedics arrived. Not to mention, once the danger passed, he was someone who I could talk to without any doubts that he'd listen.

"_That _was how I learned how Shadows worked. I owe him my life."

There was dead silence in the room for a minute or two. Francis broke it: "You know, Dugan, it's not like Jalal doesn't owe us a vacation…"

Dugan sighed and shook his head.

"And Chicago has been pretty quiet lately," added Nichole. "Now that Kurt is back, you two could just call Sofia or Penelope and -"

"Like I said, I didn't say no," Dugan interrupted. Noticing Nichole's optimistic expression, he added, "YET." He looked at the tickets again. "Hard to doubt Gregory's urgency when he sends these."

"Uh, they're _that _expensive?" asked Francis.

"Flying first class to Brazil would be cheaper. Most of the time the only way to get to Cauldron is on a mercantile boat. Still, I should add that in the past, Jalal's attempts to expand Shadowchaser operations to Cauldron have been, by his own accounts, diplomatic and financial headaches."

"I don't intend to go as a Shadowchaser, Dugan," said Nichole, "this is my duty as a member of St. Cuthbert's clergy. You can call it a 'working vacation'."

"Fair enough," said Dugan, "you two can take a 'working vacation', but we have four tickets. I'm going as a chaperone. You two have twenty minutes to pack your things."

"Say _what?_" shouted Francis.

"The special train leaves only once a day at eleven o'clock and given the traffic in this city at this time of day, we _might _make it if we leave in twenty minutes. Keep in mind our accommodations there will likely be the same as a youth hostel. Remember, we're not there on Shadowchaser duty. And _one _other thing."

"Yes?" asked Nichole, the excitement in her voice very hard to hide.

"After this, _you _owe _me _a favor."

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Chicago Union Station

Francis had never liked traveling by air. It was kind of funny, really. He'd dealt with zombies, noting how movies never managed to express to the audience the _stench _a living corpse gave off. The first Shadow he had to handle where he truly needed his berserk was an ettin who was stealing cattle (ettins being two-headed giants known for - in part - a complete lack of hygienic habits) and had personally investigated a kidnapping of a college student by an assailant who turned out to be a swamp troll that had taken to living in the sewers. The poor girl survived, but the two days she'd been held hostage in the beast's lair required _months _of daily administered booster shots before she was given a clean bill of health. Trolls are _that _dirty.

And yet, airplanes made him sick. He was almost relieved to find that the tickets Nichole had received were train tickets until he realized Cauldron was on an island.

"So, this is a _train _that goes over the _ocean?" _asked Francis.

"Honestly, Francis, you have magical tattoos and that sort of thing surprises you?" snarked Nichole. "Doesn't that anime you used to watch have a train like that?"

Of course, to the end of her days, Nichole would wonder what possessed her to decide make an intercontinental trip on the spur of the moment and then do so after throwing random pieces of clothing into one suitcase and leaving without having showered or even brushed her teeth. Such things never occur to you until you're rushing down a concourse hoping to make the connection.

"Yeah, it was built by the greatest shipwright in the world who was also a fish-man. If the Shadowkind here had one, you'd think they'd brag about it more."

"Like I told you two before," added Dugan, "money talks in Cauldron, and it also talks enough to convince some people to stay quiet." He nodded to a door in the wall, a blue door made of shiny, shimmering metal, one which would likely stand out, but everyone seemed to be ignoring.

"Getting on the express route to Cauldron is easy once you have a ticket, simply take the ticket to _any _railway station in the world. The enchantment on the ticket leads you to the 'door where there was none before', and…" He grabbed hold of the knob and opened it, bringing all three of them, it seemed, down a rabbit hole.

The early comparison to the Hogwarts Express was rather accurate, as the train on the platform was indeed a steam locomotive, something that seemed very out of place on a modern railway, especially seeing as the engine was made out of brass with silver trim, and the entire train didn't seem to have so much as a smudge of the grime usually found on trains. It didn't seem to have the smell of coal and soot usually associated with a steam engine; indeed, there was barely any odor at all, even though said engine was running.

"You sure this is safe?" asked Francis.

"_ALL ABOARD!" _The phrase was something they never expected to hear outside of a cartoon or an old movie, but they knew what it meant. As they ran for the boarding platform, Dugan gave him one more word of assurance:

"Don't worry, they've been using this train _much _longer than they used the zeppelin."

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Francis had to admit, the train was far more comfortable to travel on than any airplane was, although it was no less unnerving. The passenger car they were in had room for about twenty people, but there were only about four others on when they got on, all of whom seemed to be important executive-types. He felt like he was wasting a fortune just sitting here. Now and again he'd close his eyes for a few seconds, be alerted by a loud whistle, and find that one or two new passengers had come on, sometimes replacing another. Some sort of time distorting effect seemed to conceal the stops where they boarded and disembarked.

After a while, a voice came over a loudspeaker: _"ATTENTION PASSENGERS. DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES, THE TRAIN IS EXPERIENCING A DELAY; OUR ETA HAS BEEN PUSHED BACK 30 MINUTES. WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE."_

"You gotta be kidding me,_" _exclaimed Francis. "That even happens to magical locomotives?"

"Yes, just not for the same reasons," said Dugan with a nod. "Still, this may be a good time to explain Cauldron a little."

There were no objections, she he again opened the textbook where he had shown them the picture.

"So, this 'Cauldron,' it's really built on the inside of a volcano?"

Dugan nodded. "Indeed. From what I've heard, it's quite unique. The town is constructed in concentric layers, descending down into the rim of the caldera."

"Aren't they afraid that it'll erupt someday? I mean, it doesn't sound like the safest place to build a city, if you ask me."

.

"Supposedly it's extinct, or sufficiently so that the residents aren't preoccupied with the matter; there's even a lake in the center. I think that the concern was more with security, and privacy. given the nature of the region, and the site _is_ defensible."

Of course, Dugan's expression and tone nearly contradicted what he had said. After all, he had seen enough movies to know as well as Francis and Nichole did that the more people insist a volcano will never erupt again, the more likely it is to eventually do so. After all, the proper term was used in **seismology** was "dormant", not "extinct".

"I suppose they originally felt they had a lot more to worry about than the volcano erupting," he continued. He opened the book again, to a two-page full-color map of the entire island. Cauldron itself was located at the west-southwest part, indicated by an icon larger than scale, the map itself being old.

"After all, it hasn't erupted for at least a thousand years?"

"Hold on," asked Nichole, "this city is a _thousand _years old?"

"No, no of course not. The island wasn't even discovered by humans until around the Fifteenth Century. Before that, clans of ophidia, giants, and gnolls, along with… entities of supernatural origin - as the book says - had small strongholds there, but competition with each other and infighting among each other kept all of them from dominating the whole island. Eventually, the place fell into the hands of the British Empire, but the island was notorious for having hazards surrounding it that made approach by boat difficult; dangerous reefs, a knack for bad weather, strong currents, and unfriendly tribes of sahuagin and merfolk all of which made the place impractical for settling."

"Since when did _that _stop them from barging into a place and conquering it?" asked Francis with a suspicious glance.

"Done your homework I see. Well, the thing is -"

"Hello!" said a sweet voice, interrupting. "Would any of you care for a beverage?"

No matter how long any of them had been in this business, interacting with creatures from beyond Shadow, it seemed there always remained ways to be surprised. The sweetly smiling attendant had blue skin and short horns below her bangs that curved backwards.

"Uhm, orange juice please," said Nichole.

"Uh, just some water," replied Dugan.

"Diet Cola," added Francis. "So, uh, Dugan, you were saying -"

"I was saying, this place seemed to have a hotbed of Shadow activity, and most Mundane explorers considered the place cursed. Then along came someone who figured that it takes one to conquer one." He turned the page, revealing a full-color reproduction of a painting, depicting a well-dressed dwarf with a full, black beard. "His name was Suramar Spellmason."

Nichole looked at the painting for a good minute. This Spellmason seemed like your typical dwarf, leather-beaten tanned skin and a dour frown. But one thing occurred to her.

"Wait, I thought dwarves didn't like boats."

"They don't," replied Dugan, "and that's not the only reason he was unique. He was a Rune Lord."

"Uh…" said Francis. In truth, he was barely listening, finding it hard to take his eyes off the attendant, who was still making eye contact as she poured his Diet Pepsi, looking at him with wide eyes that were sapphire-blue and very, _very _shiny teeth.

"Rune lord," said Nichole, answering the question before he could, "as in, dwarven elementalist wizard, but usually only derro make a habit of becoming full-fledged Rune Lords."

"Usually that is the case," continued Dugan. "No matter how you look at Spellmason, he was an oddball. Some even think he was a gold dwarf."

Nichole simply shook her head, and the attendant quickly handed her and Francis their drinks in the usual short glasses with ice, a 12-ounce bottle of Poland Spring to Dugan. "We'll be moving shortly," she said, before moving on.

Francis couldn't help but turn and look at her a little longer, noting she also had a tail and hooves

Nichole, on the other hand, was looking hard at the painting. She had heard some Shadows - mostly goblins and gnomes - talk about gold dwarves. An ancient and incredibly rare offshoot with divine blood, who could shape metal with their bare hands and wear it like cloth, tended orchards with trees that grew gems like fruit, and who needed no food themselves because they could eat granite and coal. Wherever they came from was a dwarf's Shangri-La.

"Anyway," continued Dugan, "around 500 years ago, Spellmason, two partners, and a small band of underlings saw potential and bought the land rights." He stopped for a minute to sip the bottled water.

"From your tone, I take it these were different than the average settlers?" asked Francis.

"Well, he obviously they knew more about this sort of thing than most, but you have to remember, this was the, ahem, Age of Exploration, where everyone in a position of power saw potential overseas."

"In other words," added Nichole, "for all this hubris, Spellmason was the type who wanted to find the Western Passage to the Orient and make a ton of money."

The train lurched for a moment or two as the engine slowly started again and they felt it move. A sudden thought came to Francis: _Does this train even _have _tracks? How do you put train tracks on the surface of the ocean?_

He tried to get his mind off it and turned to Dugan, who continued his explanation. "Exactly. Even if he was a sorcerer and seafarer, he was still a dwarf through-and-through. Some even claim - without proof I might add - that he was a Merkhant."

You didn't need to be a Shadowchaser to know what _that _meant. Merkhants were a loosely associated group (or rather, a club) of billionaires with a rather shallow view of the world. Some claim they were the closest anyone came to be worshipping the Almighty Dollar as an actual religion. This may have been true with some of them, but _all_ of them were regarded as misers, tycoons, and plutocrats who believed anything and everything in the world has a price. If you tried to argue and tell them that some things simply _couldn't _be bought, a Merkhant would laugh and say that, if so, it wasn't worth owning.

"Thing is, Merkhants have an unofficial policy, which they regard as one of the 'secrets to success', and it's one of the few secrets they gladly share: They _never _agree to a project unless it promises at least 100% return on the investment. It raised a few eyebrows when he decided to fund and lead an expedition to an unsettled, unexplored island in a region that was itself largely unexplored."

"Did he know something everyone else didn't?" asked Nichole.

"Maybe, but I should point out that this is where Spellmason's reputation takes sort of a… mythic turn." He turned a few pages, showing another painting depicting the dwarf, now in less formal clothing, on a hillside, knocking over a giant with bolts of lightning.

"_This _painting actually meant to illustrate one of the more _reliable _stories about him. Most stories of his exploits chronicle how he had to fight his way into a land that resisted civilization of any sort. His battle against the demonic warlock Gogoyle - who considered the island _his _exclusive property because he was the most powerful individual there - is the most prevalent legend, and to this day, often involves things like how he commanded the land and sea itself to smite enemies, how he rained celestial fury on undead armies… Typical stuff like that. Most of it likely exaggerated or completely fabricated."

He turned back to the map, then pointed to the southeast part of the island. "The town of Redgorge was settled first, built as a walled fortress-town with defense in mind. Over the centuries it became nearly impregnable, one story claiming it had magical cannons and mortars capable of driving away a kraken." Noticing their disbelieving looks, he added, "Again, more exaggeration. Probably. Once that was secure, he started work on Kingfisher Hollow," he indicated the northwest part of the map, where an icon represented a town by a bay, "ensuring he controlled all shipping avenues and trade routes into and out of the island. As that was happening, he started his masterpiece, building a city within the yawning crater of the volcano. A palace of sorts that he could use to build a trade empire where he'd control the shipping lanes through the Western Passage and by doing so, rule the world!

"Ahem, of course, things didn't work out quite as he planned, but Cauldron still became a haven for folks like him, many of whom were the type who didn't fit in elsewhere. About a hundred years ago, the small town of Hollowski." He pointed to an area north of Redgorge. "Some other clans of dwarves came in and opened a brewery, became rather successful with it, and a town grew up around."

Francis started to feel queasy; the trip was starting to get bumpy, with sudden lurches here and there. Finally, however:

"_ATTENTION, PASSENGERS, WE ARE TWO MINUTES FROM OUR FINAL DESTINATION. PLEASE REMAIN IN YOUR SEATS UNTIL THE TRAIN HAS COME TO A COMPLETE STOP, AT WHICH TIME WE WILL BEGIN TO DISEMBARK."_

Francis closed his eyes and seemed to feel the difference in the motion. The train now seemed to be moving the way he recognized, along a solid surface. Slowly, he opened the window next to him, getting his first full view of this strange city.

"_WELCOME TO CAULDRON."_

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…_.and I do believe that's as good a place as any to end the chapter. Next time, in "Q&A", our merry band gets their first glance at Cauldron, and learns the ominous reason they've been invited. Also, the return of the Shadowchaser Files! Be there or be square. _

_Oh, and for those wondering, the conclusion of "Shadowchasers: Tournament of Shadows" will hopefully be wrapping up soon. In the meantime, anyone hungry for more Yu-Gi-Oh fanfiction might want to check out "Heirs of Fate" by my occasional co-author 7th Librarian. (Yes, that's a plug.) _

_Later _


	2. POV

_Hey everyone. It's been a long week, what with preparing for Thanksgiving, eating too much when it comes, sleeping off the __tryptophan, and then dealing with Black Friday crowds, I've finally garnered some free time. _

_So then, time to see just what the big deal is, as our protagonists get their first look at Cauldron…_

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**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

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**Part Two**

**P.O.V.**

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The train emerged from a dark tunnel, slowing as it rolled into its last stop, a station that seemed too large and too fancy for one train. Still, the large, cavernous structure only had a single platform with one way in or out. As Francis looked out the window he wondered if they had stopped inside some sort of church.

The doors slid open, the evening air feeling warm and humid to the three Shadowchasers. A large clock on the ceiling gave the time as 7:45.

It didn't hit them for a few minutes that an eight-hour time difference had to be factored in, meaning the whole trip had taken 45 minutes.

_Well, it was certainly more comfortable than the Concord, _thought Nichole, _or so I heard. _

The station looked a lot like a cathedral, stained glass windows overhead showing an evening sky and statues of cherubs and goddesses flanking rows of benches and a fountain on the far end. It was impeccably clean, more so than most mass transit stations they were aware of.

Nichole looked up and down the tracks. One passenger seemed to be staying put for now, but most hurried to an exit near the side of the tracks.

"So, uh, now what?" asked Francis. "The letter said someone would be here, right?"

Nichole nodded, but didn't seem to see anyone she'd recognize, despite looking up and down the station as best she could to locate someone.

"Okay, let's not lose our heads yet," said Dugan. "Nichole, wait here and see if anyone comes. First thing we need to do is find a currency exchange and a place that has a map. Hopefully if Greg hasn't sent someone, we can find him."

"Right, right, go on," said Nichole with a sigh. She crossed her arms and leaned against a pillar, trying to keep her two allies in sight if she could. _After all, what's the worst that can happen to a young woman alone in a train station who looks like a lost tourist?_

"Darling!"

The sudden shout was a small hope spot, but unfortunately, it wasn't for her. A woman rushed into the station towards another waiting passenger. As disappointed as she was, it was a little heartwarming to see the young couple embrace.

As she watched them leave, she sighed heavily and sadly. Still no sign of anyone who had come to meet her. She remembered she had tickets to a Bulls on Monday would likely miss because of this, to say nothing of the promise she had made to help at the shelter tomorrow, which was Sunday, when they needed it the most. _Dammit, Greg, did you think I wasn't coming? I _always _keep my promises and -_

"Ow!" The headache she had gotten from the trip seemed to edge into migraine intensity. When she opened her eyes, she noticed something. It was as if a muted radio had just been turned up slightly.

She turned her head towards the rest rooms at the other end of the station…

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"Five minutes, sir," said the female dwarf behind the counter.

Dugan had to say, he was impressed. The small booth didn't seem any larger than a ticket counter but had pretty much everything a post office and currency exchange needed.

Something caught his eye. _Right down to the wanted posters, _he thought.

The black and white photograph was of a sultry-looking woman in short, red hair, with a scar under her eye, with quite a jovial expression for someone having her mugshot taken. He read the information:

**WANTED: Camilla "Cammy" Grains, Vile Temptress and Practitioner of Dark Magic**

_Convicted and sentenced to death in absentia for murder and treason. _

_Also convicted of vandalism, burglary, grand larceny, rabble rousing, and advocating anarchy._

Dugan noticed underneath this someone had scrawled with a sharpie, "assault and battery, petty theft."

"I see you noticed Ms. Grains' _unique _sense of humor," grumbled the dwarf. She slammed a stack of bills on the counter. "Bitch comes by last week, when we were busy, gets in line, starts talking to a guy carrying a bag with sandwiches, cigarettes, and potato chips. Then someone recognizes her and screams for the watch. She belts the first guy across the face, steals his wallet and the stuff in the bag, and then says the poster needs to be 'updated', doing it herself before making a run for it."

"The watch didn't come?" asked Dugan.

"Sure they did. The watch can't catch someone like that. It would take an army…"

Dugan continued to read: _Known to be a disciple of the Lord of Slaughter. Practices dark magic and is incredibly dangerous. 1,000 Sovereign reward for proof of death or information leading to capture._

Dugan rubbed his chin. He knew that "Lord of Slaughter" was a common title for Hextor, but something about this woman being a worshipper of the Wrathful One seemed… wrong.

He shrugged his shoulders and stuffed the cash in his coat pocket.

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_My apologies, Greg my-man!_

Usually, when a man guarded the door of the Ladies Room, he did so for a lady-friend who didn't want to be disturbed, but this one didn't look like he belonged, mostly because he was doing his best to keep it propped open as he did so.

The stranger was male, and Nichole could clearly see he wore a mask—no, his face was painted, with a garish design that covered half of his face in black, the other in white. He wore his greasy black hair tied back into a ponytail, and a silver stud glinted slightly in one earlobe. He was clad in leather jacket and trousers, both stained black with metal studs, and the hilt of hunting knife jutted from his belt.

His hand grasped the handle when he saw Nichole. "Move on," the man hissed. "This is none of your concern."

Belatedly, Nichole became aware of a commotion behind him in the Ladies Room. Looking past him, she saw two figures, attired in a similar fashion to the one before her. The two figures were assaulting a third figure, who was sprawled out on a large puddle of water and the broken, shattered remains of what was once a toilet trying in vain to shield himself from the kicks that the assailants were raining down on his torso.

_Coffee… _she thought, recognizing the victim. Gregor's friend had _not _been late. She turned to the first thug, and simply said, "I'm making it my concern."

"What, you think you can -" he started, stopping when her fist slammed into his teeth. "Ugh, what do you -" He started, only to be cut off again by a second one to his jaw. The knife - which he had been in the process of unsheathing - fell to the floor with a clatter.

Of course, this did not go unnoticed by the other two masked figures. "Who's this?" said one of them.

"You handle it," said the other, the voice clearly female and annoyed.

"Come on," dared Nichole, making a "come here" motion with her hands. "After an hour on that train I really need to stretch my legs."

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_Candy in foreign stores is always strange._

Francis wasn't all-too read up on the culture and economy of Shadow-exclusive cities, but he knew a newspaper stand when he saw one, the candy on the shelves being mostly brands he didn't recognize.

_Double-Decker, Whispa, Bottlecaps, Charleston Chew… Hey, Chuckles. Been a long time since I had - _"Ugh!"

The same odd pat bored into his head, with the same odd notice of a sound he hadn't heard before.

"Nichole?" he shouted.

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"Oh, you're dead, babe," growled the thug. In reply, Nichole brandished something that looked like a small can of breath spray. "Wait, DON'T…" he shouted, the tone suggesting he thought it was mace, and that he had experienced it before.

Nichole grinned evilly and pushed the nozzle, and to the thug's shock, it was neither. Just some sweet-smelling mist. He burst out laughing. "You crazy bitch, you think you can -"

Then Nichole's foot slammed into his groin.

Unfortunately, Nichole had been totally ignoring the female one. The apparent leader was twirling a weighted bolo, and as soon as her male underling fell backwards, threw it, hitting Nichole, pinning her arms to her sides, and knocking her on her back.

She proceeded to leap at Nichole, who at first thought she was trying to _tackle _her. Instead, the female landed on her hands, then propelled herself into a flip over the prone Shadowchaser, landing on her feet.

_Whoa, _thought Nichole.

"Get over here you lunkheads," she ordered, "we're done here anyway."

"NICHOLE!" yelled Francis' voice behind her, followed by Dugan's shouting, "What's going on here?" Nichole lifted her head enough to see the first male thug was helping the second limp away. Francis helped Nichole sit up while trying to unravel the bolos. A mocking, hammy laugh came from the female.

"Impressive, mainlanders," she cackled, "but the acolyte only lives because we allow it, not because of your bravado. Take these words back to your mentor, the children are lost and of no concern to St. Cuthbert!"

_Who ordered the ham and cheese? _thought Nichole. She stood up, but the three strange assailants seemed to vanish into the darkness.

_Mainlanders? _thought Francis.

"You hurt?" asked Dugan.

"Only my pride," replied Nichole. Of course, she wasted no time making a beeline for the victim on the ground, who was groaning and sobbing. "Coffee? Coffee you okay?"

_Coffee? _though Francis.

The obvious nickname was strange, but the victim was no doubt a halfling, the sharp, pointed ears and oversized, hairy, bare feet a dead giveaway. He wore a vestment that was now dirty and torn.

Brief introductions later, the halfling stood up, the attack clearly having scared him more than they hurt him.

"Who was the Harley Quinn wanna-be?" asked Francis.

"It's a long story... I'll be happy to tell it to you, once we're back at the temple. Things have been pretty tense here lately; there's been some... some abductions."

As they left the station, Nichole looked around the darkened street, which was all but deserted now that night had arrived in earnest.

"Really wish you could have come under more pleasant circumstances," sighed Coffee, "but it's not that long a walk."

Short as it was, it was also an _uphill _walk. Still, the first look the three Shadowchasers had of Cauldron certainly didn't disappoint. The smaller buildings were packed together, and most were made of volcanic stone with wooden roofs. The road they were on was cobblestoned, and the "no automobiles" rule was obviously enforced. Nichole saw a road sign every now and then marking the road they were on as Obsidian Avenue; she'd later learn that this was one of four main thoroughfares, the others named Magma, Lava, and Ash. Smaller avenues connected the four roadways, which formed concentric terraces down to the lake in the center of the town. Streetlights were gaslights, and every now and then they came on one that was being lit by someone with a long-handled torch.

Some of the larger buildings were the type you'd see no matter where you were in the city, along with the lake in the center and a fifty-foot wall of malachite surrounding the entire rim of the caldera. Several of the structures bordering the wall recalled the fanciest mansions of European nobility, many with spires and towers.

The streets were mostly empty, given the late hour, with only a few stragglers, most of them closing their shops. Still, among them, she recognized it, the furtive looks and concern and doubt. Cauldron wasn't a happy place right now.

"By the way, uh, Coffee," asked Francis, "that headache I got…"

"Heh, just an orison," he said with a slight chuckle.

"A who?"

"Remedial divine magic," he said, "used that one as a distress flare. Probably wouldn't do any good offensively. We're here."

The sudden shift of tone caused them to look up. Indeed, they had come upon the entrance to St. Cuthbert's Cathedral without even seeing it from a distance; a strange trick of shape and perspective. The facade of the main building that fronted the street was connected to a low wall that provided access to a courtyard adjacent to the structure. The main temple doors were flanked by a pair of statues, also apparently of white marble, carved into the representation of a pair of armored knights, their maces lifted triumphantly into the air.

"Nice place," remarked Francis.

Coffee did not head for the main entrance, however, instead turning to the side wall and opening a latch on agate of thick iron bars that led into that courtyard. The courtyard, sheltered from the street by the wall, was deep with shadows that were continuing to lengthen as the evening approached.

"Careful, the path is clear, but there's a few benches here that you can stumble into if you're not careful. Just follow me, the rectory is just over there."

This, of course, was lost on Nichole, who had _never _seen a proper church of St. Cuthbert in person. She had attended mass at a community center and could only dream of or read about actual temples devoted to the faith. Dugan's thoughts, however, were on other matters, like what they might encounter inside the temple complex.

Coffee led them to a heavy wooden door recessed into the stone wall of the rectory building. As he opened the door a shaft of warm light spilled out into the courtyard.

Inside, the room wasn't large, but looked comfortable and lived in. A stone hearth in the far wall was cold, but a pair of oil lamps on the mantle above shed a cheery light. There were several comfy-looking armchairs and couches flanking a wall-mounted bookcase holding dozens of titles, and a small table flanked by a trio of chairs beside a long wooden sideboard. Two doors led to other parts of the building, while to their right a narrow corridor appeared to give access to the temple itself.

"Everyone's probably at the temple, or still out in the town," Coffee said cheerily. "With everything that's been happening, we've been putting in some long days of late, and we only have a handful of clergy on staff here." Now that he was home, in his element, some of his earlier gloom had vanished. With his bruises faded, only the sorry condition of his vestments remained as evidence that he'd been mugged. "I can see about dinner and proper lodgings later, but first we'd better go tell Jenya what happened."

"Jenya?" asked Nichole. "Where's Greg?"

"Oh, he'll be there too, count on it."

There was no way to get out of it; well, not without an unpleasant display, so the three Shadowchasers followed the halfling as he led them down the passageway that connected the rectory with the temple. As they approached a thick stone arch, Nichole recognized the smell of incense hanging heavily in the air.

The passage opened onto the back of the nave of the church. Despite the limited size of the structure, Nichole was impressed. Thick beams held up the roof, rising to a peak some twenty feet above. Wooden pews ran in twin rows from the entry hall to the altar area just in front of her, with an ornate wooden door to her left probably leading to the sacristy where the vestments and other sacred accoutrements of organized religion were kept. Though there were no worshippers present now, everything was immaculate and clean, clearly well-tended by the faithful who ran the temple. She estimated that perhaps a hundred worshipers could gather here at once; a rather small congregation when compared to that of Chicago's City Church, but still several times larger than the typical gathering at the community center.

She started as she realized that she'd let her thoughts drift, and that others had joined their conversation, and the two acolytes were looking at her curiously. One looked like a centaur, except smaller than most with a faun's lower body and bud-like horns on her forehead. She wore her acolyte's habit over chestnut-colored skin. The other seemed slightly younger than Francis, with slightly pointed ears over moss-like hair, and olive-green skin.

Nichole felt herself flush with embarrassment as she stammered out an apology.

Francis sidled over to her, and covertly jabbed her in the thigh with her elbow. "Coffee was just telling Havan and Illewyn here about our little misadventure."

"I'm afraid Jenya, the acting High Priestess, isn't here right now," started one of the acolytes, "but she's..."

"Acting?" Nichole interrupted. "Where's the High Priest?"

"Honestly, Nichole, you're as jumpy as ever."

The words were strong yet calm and came from behind them. A man stood in the doorway, almost twice as tall as Coffee wearing the same style of vestments. He had short, blonde hair, and a trimmed beard the same color.

Nichole said nothing but did what one could expect at seeing her old friend again. She got up and hugged him.

"Greg," she whispered.

"Missed you too, Nichole," he replied.

_Man, why didn't I bring my camera, _thought Francis.

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"You've grown, Nichole."

He broke the hug, holding her at arms' length to look at her fully. "Not just in height either!"

"Hey, just watch it there," said Dugan.

"I meant she had put on muscle, Mr. Dugan, something I believe I have _you _to thank for."

He and Nichole sat down on one of the pews, Dugan and Francis cautiously doing the same, not sure what to make of this old friend of Nichole's whom she seemed to have on her mind the whole trip here.

"You should have seen her when we first met, she was so thin, almost anorexic. When we first admitted her and her mother to the soup kitchen, she seemed to think the food was booby-trapped."

Nichole blushed again, as what Greg was saying wasn't far from the truth. Food offered for free wasn't something she was used to at the time, and she felt like she was a thief, eating at a restaurant without the intent to pay. And after she started doing volunteer work there, she found that this attitude was hardly uncommon to newcomers.

"A month later, she was making suggestions on how to improve the food quality without raising the budget."

"Of come on, Greg," said Nichole with a sigh, before turning to Dugan. "I just told them peanut butter sandwiches and bananas could be better than the processed cold cuts they were serving."

"High in protein and potassium!" chuckled Greg. "Then she -"

"Ahem."

The voice was one they hadn't heard before. Either someone else had just entered the chamber or had been there for a while without anyone noticing. Greg and the two acolytes sprang to their feet, the three Shadowchasers quickly taking notice of the newcomer, a tall, slender woman who seemed ageless. Her skin was a dusky rose hue, and she had ears that pointed upwards, about twice the height of those of any elf. She was clad in a simple but functional robe, and wore her long, light-brown hair in an elaborate coif that fell to her waist in a flowing cascade. She wore an expression that reflected impatience and brooked no challenge, and her frown was directed at the other clergy members as much as her three guests.

The woman strode with deliberation over to them, and rested her hands on her hips as she cast an evaluating gaze first upon Dugan, a gaze that brought back decades-old memories of his days in basic training where such a look from a superior officer meant you were to stand at attention.

"Ma'am," he finally said with a nod, extending his hand.

"Welcome," she finally said, extending her hand to his. "I am Jenya Urikas, acting High Priest of the Cathedral of St. Cuthbert in Cauldron. I extend to you the hospitality of our church." She turned slightly to Coffee and the female acolyte. "Alexander, Illewyn, see to our guests. Havan, go to the festhall and get Malakar and Serrah; they were helping with the work on the Winter Fund and have likely forgotten the hour."

The two acolytes nodded quickly. Under Jenya's expectant stare Havan moved toward the door, looking back once with uncertainty—and finding Jenya still looking after him—before turning and heading out into the night.

Jenya turned to Gregory and said, "I heard on the way over that there had been a bit of excitement. Come to my office and tell me what happened."

With the Shadowchasers staring after her open-mouthed, Jenya took Gregory decisively in hand and steered him toward the door in the rear wall of the nave. Belatedly, they realized that they hadn't even told the priestess their names. Coffee noticed their reaction and smiled.

"Yes, she's a force of nature," the halfling said. "But she's had a lot to deal with since High Priest Delasharn departed."

"Seems like there's a lot going on here that we don't know about," Francis stated simply. "You'd think you'd at least be safe in a church."

The acolyte sighed. "These are difficult times in Cauldron. It was bad enough with the earlier disappearances, but now, with the children being taken... Jenya has publicly committed the Church to finding them, and bringing their abductors to justice, but thus far there's been no information..."

"Wait, wait, children?" Dugan asked. "Children have been abducted? You mentioned some kidnappings, but-"

"Uh, Coffee?" said Illewyn, interrupting.

Coffee nodded. "Uh yeah, this way, I'm sure everyone's hungry. Jenya can tell you more, later."

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A short while later, Dugan and Francis were in a small, simple room with walls of undressed stone within the rectory. A curtain hanging in the doorway offered a modicum of privacy, and a pair of simple cots offered an opportunity for rest. Francis was standing over a basin that sat on a table against the wall, having tossed his shirt aside to wash up enough to make himself presentable. The two elves tattooed on his arms - elven goddesses of Dawn and Dusk - seemed placid and content for now, and he hoped he wouldn't need them any time soon.

"Ung," he thought. He looked at himself in the mirror. "I'm starting to think maybe _I'm _the one whoneeds more protein."

"Well, there _has _been a lull in the action around Chicago lately," said Dugan. Truthfully, he was starting to think he'd been putting on weight himself.

"Did you manage to bring the hardware?" asked Francis.

Of course, by "hardware" he meant their equipment; whatever they were here for, he doubted he could handle it without his sword, but also doubted he could have simply waltzed onto the train with it on his belt.

Dugan simply nodded to the duffle bag he had placed on the desk; Francis quickly recognized it as the _bag of holding _he had gotten from Rayearth. "The mobile phones are there too. Plus, the Duel Disks, but I don't think there are that many folks in town who know the game."

"Hello again, people!" said Coffee's voice, which seemed much cheerier now. "Sorry to barge in here."

"Eh, you're forgiven," said Francis, noting that he had brought a serving tray with him, along with plates holding cheese sandwiches, delicious-smelling mushroom soup, and a coffee pot. "Afraid we don't have the best menu here, but what we have is yours."

"So, how'd you get the name Coffee?" asked Francis. He eyed the pot, wondering if that had anything to do with it.

"Yeah, I know, that's always the first thing they ask,'' said Coffee. He started to pour the beverage while explaining it. "Not really anything special, Greg thought up the name when he noticed how the Plum Clan of Denmark served it cold with goat milk."

Francis hesitated a little before picking up the offered cup. "Just sip it slowly," added Coffee, "it's something of an acquired taste."

_Well, that's for sure, _thought Francis. He sipped the coffee, which despite being cold, seemed very, _very _strong.

"Everyone decent in here?" They looked up at the sound of Nichole's voice as the curtain parted. "Try to eat fast guys, Jenya wants to see us in ten minutes."

"You learn anything?" asked Dugan.

"I've been talking to Illewyn a little. Suffice to say I have a _lot _of questions to ask the, ahem, _acting _High Priest."

_Well, this is certainly different than the Chicago, _thought Francis.

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The High Priest's office was as plain as most of the quarters in the temple complex, furnished in spartan fashion with a wide wooden desk, a few wall-mounted shelves, and several chairs. A bright open flame that burned brightly on the desk illuminated the room. Jenya was sitting at the desk as they entered, and Gregory was there, standing at her shoulder with his hands clasped behind his back. Coffee did not enter with them, instead departing back for the rectory after closing the door behind them. Jenya gestured to a set of chairs and bade them to sit down.

"I would like to make a formal thank you for scaring away those muggers that ambushed Alexander," she started.

"Yeah, that's kind of the elephant in the room right now," answered Francis. "Do you have any idea of who it was who those guys were?"

Jenya glanced up at Gregory, and they exchanged a brief look. "Cauldron is normally a quiet city, but street crime is not unheard of."

"But this wasn't a run-of-the-mill mugging," Dugan prodded. "Those three were trying to send a message and wanted Coffee to deliver it."

"Obviously. The way those thugs painted their faces... it is a symbol of a secret organization that calls itself 'The Last Laugh'."

"Some sort of gang?" Dugan asked. The priestess nodded.

"And you think they're the ones who are behind these abductions?" Nichole asked.

She had learned a bit more of what was going on in Cauldron from a brief discussion with Illewyn, although the acolyte knew little more than the vaguest outline of the facts. The disappearances of people had been going on for several months now, with both the Town Guard and the city's various churches utterly stymied in terms of tracking down whoever or whatever was behind them. But what had the town in an uproar was the recent—only a few nights' previous—abduction of four children from the city orphanage. The four had simply vanished from their rooms one night, without the faintest clue as to who had taken them or why.

"Coffee wasn't the first, and I doubt he'll be the last," added Gregory. "I had to deal with them three days ago. Same deal, I had gone to the orphanage hoping to console them, and when I left, I ran into _five _of those hoods."

He rolled up his shirt, revealing a bandage on his lower torso that bound a wound that had only partially healed. "Ouch," said Nichole.

"Same deal as Coffee, they told me to stay away from the orphanage.

"Well, that seems like a pretty incriminating bit of evidence, I'd say," Dugan said. "But why do you want _us _to investigate?"

Jenya didn't respond immediately, only regarded them with an impenetrable gaze. Finally, she leaned forward across the desk, folding her hands before her. The desk was a bit too large for her, and she nearly had to stand to do so.

"Let me be completely frank with you. The Church has been placed in a very difficult position by these abductions. The people are scared, and they want answers. We've done what we can, we've used our resources to their fullest potential, worked with the other churches, and the guard... and yet those answers have not been forthcoming."

"I still don't see how this concerns us," Nichole said, though in truth she was beginning to see where this was going.

"Whoever is behind this, they clearly know enough about the churches - ours and the others, the congregations of Pelor, Kord, and even Wee Jas of some degree, have been cooperating with us on this - to avoid detection. What we need is an outsider, someone who can poke around in the shadows, and hopefully uncover a clue that we've missed."

Even though he'd suspected it was coming as much as Nichole did, Dugan was still surprised to hear the words. "Okay, let me get this straight here," he started. "St. Cuthbert is supposedly the most disciplined faith among Shadowkind, a bastion of Law and Order and all it stands for. And you wanted us to act as, what, agents? Spies? Mercenaries?"

"Does seem kind of contradictory," added Francis.

"Normally I would agree with you," added Jenya, "but there is one additional clue, though I have not yet been able to make meaning of it." She glanced up at Greg yet again, just for a second, but that that one glimpse showed worry, doubt, and especially guilt.

Nichole and Dugan saw it quickly. What had this they done that was so bad they needed help from a third party to keep it hidden?

"I'll field that, Jenya," said Gregory with a sigh. "I'll have to tell them eventually. See, I figured something was seriously wrong so… I decided to use the Star."

"**You did **_**WHAT?"**_shouted Nichole, getting up.

"Nichole, please," he answered.

"You used the Star of Justice?" she shouted. "Gregory, you crazy, reckless, piece of -"

"Uh, Nichole?"

Francis' voice calmed her a little. "It's a powerful artifact," she explained, "something Donnie gave Father Selman before he and Gregor left Chicago. Donnie _specifically_ said only the High Priest himself was to use it, and only in the direst emergencies. Supposedly, it lets such a person open a direct line of communication to St. Cuthbert himself, in hopes he can respond with an omen or portent, something to point you in the right direction during a crisis you can't solve."

"Uh-_huh," _said Francis. Looking at Greg, he was starting to see the whole picture too._ "_And I suppose he - or most gods in general - don't like it when mortals bother them by calling them on their home lines?"

"Yes, yes," Gregory started to explain, "I mean, wouldn't you? Father Selman is _High Priest _Selman now, and he has been away for the past three months, helping establish a new House in Calcutta. I don't have _his _number, and even if I did, what was he supposed to do, drop everything and rush back? Lives were at stake, so I was pretty sure this was cause enough to use it."

"And let me guess," asked Francis, "you were wrong, and St. Cuthbert took offense?"

"No," said Gregory, shaking his head. "The _opposite_ problem." He started digging through his pocket for something. "Usually, when anyone, even Donnie himself uses the Star, the answers it gives is a few words at best, the answer it gave _me _while cryptic, seemed far more complete, enough for me to realize something _very _serious was going down."

He handed them a slip of paper, on which a short verse was scrawled in pencil. "I believe I simply asked, 'Where are the children taken from the Lantern Street Orphanage?' As you can see, I got far more than what I had hoped or expected.

**_The locks are key to finding them._**

**_Look beyond the curtain, below the cauldron_**

**_But beware the doors with teeth_**

**_Descend into the malachite hold_**

**_Where precious life is bought with gold_**

**_Half a dwarf binds them, but not for long._**

Francis quickly remembered what he had said earlier about fonts of great knowledge always being cryptic. Still, this didn't seem _that _hard.

"I assume the part that says, 'below the cauldron' means under the city somewhere."

"Mm-hmm," said Dugan. He rubbed his chin. "But the locks? The locks of the orphanage, perhaps?"

"I spoke to the headmistress of the orphanage when I visited," Gregor said. "There wasn't any sign of forced entry, and the locks there are of incredibly high-quality."

"Maybe an inside job, then?" asked Nichole.

"A question that I hope you will be able to answer," Jenya broke in. "In any case, as I said, we needed someone from the outside to -"

"Hold on," said Dugan, "we haven't said yes yet."

"Well, like we have anything better to do?" asked Francis. "I mean, the train back to Chicago won't be until tomorrow, right?"

Dugan looked closely at the verse. He tried very hard not to show it, but the part that unnerved him was the last line. He wasn't sure what 'half a dwarf' meant, but the 'not for long' part was concerning. Whatever reason these children had been kidnapped for, time was of the essence.

"All right then," he finally said. He picked up his jacket. "And there's no time like the present."

"You're going out to look _now?" _asked Gregor. He sounded both anxious and hopeful at Dugan's sudden determination.

"You forget," said Nichole, "there's an eight-hour time difference between here and Chicago.

This might be a good chance to work off some jet lag."

"You two can go check the orphanage out," said Francis. He took a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. "Nichole, that stuff you sprayed on that guy?"

"Quickwood root extract," she said with a nod.

"Then it depends on how anxious he is to shower." He put on the glasses.

_Time to see just what Cauldron can throw at us, _he thought.

"Uh, Francis, a word?"

The Shadowchaser turned around, but Gregor quickly caught him and pulled him aside. "Francis, take it from someone who came here expecting to be the proverbial pilgrim in an unholy land, only to find it needed far more than one. Cauldron is a city that plays _rough."_

"I figured as much," replied Francis.

"Three pieces of advice. One, never take _anything _for granted. If something looks harmless, it likely isn't, but if something looks _dangerous, _it's usually safe to assume it is."

"Of course."

"Two, don't hesitate to ask for help, and look for allies if you can. You can find them in the most unlikely of places.

"And three -" He pressed something into Francis' hand. "Your closest ally is faith. Whether it's faith in your own abilities of faith in a higher power, it can give one the confidence to overcome anything."

Francis opened his hand, looking at the symbol he recognized as the one Nichole always wore, a cross in a circle, like the Celtic cross.

"Light walk with you," said Gregory.

_I think that's as good a place as ever to cut off. Sorry if the stuff so far has been too much exhibition and not enough content, but I hope to change that in spades._

_For now, I'm happy to present something I've been hearing a LOT of requests for. __**Presenting, the return of….**_

**SHADOWCHASER FILES**

**Organizations: Madca's Troupe**

(The following information on this… unique group was compiled by an erstwhile associate of mine, Chester Chaun. All except the Dark, which I myself have supplied. To be blunt, a warning to anyone reading anything written by Mr. Chaun: do not trust him, do not confide in him, do not follow any advice he gives you, and try not to be seen in public with him, unless you want to be regarded as guilty by association of one of his hairbrained schemes. _But, _should you and he be pursuing similar goals, at least take note of any information he has on it, as it can often at least point you in the right direction.)

P.T. Barnum was once one of the richest men in the world, which is kind of odd for a con artist. A well-known showman, many of his attractions were fraudulent phonies. One of his earliest schemes was charging money for people to witness a "six-foot man-eating chicken". When people came in, they would see a six-foot tall man... eating chicken wings. The "Fiji mermaid" was another famous hoax, a fish's lower skeleton grafted to a monkey's upper skeleton; he didn't even build it, having leased it from a friend who owned a museum. "General Tom Thumb" was a genuine midget, but Barnum first claimed he was 11 years old when he was only 4, making his tiny size seem even more incredulous.

Barnum saw nothing wrong with this and would bear the mark of a "humbug" with pride. In his eyes, he wasn't like charlatans who sold quack remedies to sick people or a phony medium who claimed to be able to contact spirits of a client's loved ones. He felt his customers did indeed get their money's worth.

And he may have proven a point. It's human nature to be entertained by unusual things. And that is no different for a Shadowkind, who would look at an _actual_ mermaid and shrug his shoulders with a bored sounding "Eh," and walk right by.

Madca's Troupe, however… As someone who has researched carnivals, freak shows, _and _Shadowkind for half his life, I'd say this group would make even a Shadow turn and take notice.

**The Chant of Madca's Troupe: **Now, I'm not certain who or what Madca is, but I am familiar with the word "troupe". It means a group of theatrical or carnival performers. It does _not _mean an actual theater or carnival. This is fitting because, well, as far as I know, Madca's Troupe doesn't have one. You'll find many of them at any large event where such performers are common, however, like the Big E, Lollapalooza, any Mardi Graz celebration (mostly the ones in New Orleans and Rio), Spring Break events, and Cauldron's Flood Festival (more on that in a later chapter). Carnies often insist they've known them for years - often closely enough to be considered friends - but few can ever remember when they met or anything about their origins. There's never less than two or more than three at any event, and the actual performers present at one night's event are often different than the previous night.

Some believe their appearances at these events are done for advertisement. Certain times, a "special" member is there who can arrange appearances at more private celebrations, but even attempting to find these "special" members is daunting and requires speaking to several different members of the Troupe. Manage it, and the first thing he'll tell you is that their services are _very _expensive. This isn't the type you'd hire for a kid's birthday.

Of course, it might not be wise not to ask them to perform in front of kids for another reason: These folks aren't normal Shadowkind. I once asked one of their barkers if they had a kissing booth with an actual succubus. He laughed and said, "No, no, of course not." But then added, "_That _would be too easy."

I'm not exactly sure what he meant, but then, this was coming from a talkative wax golem with no face who called itself (himself?) "Mr. ?". The members of the Troupe are unusual, even for Shadows. And by that. I don't mean "unusual" or "rarely seen" races of Shadowkind. Many of them are human, elf, orc and the like - or _used _to be at least. All of them have been... _Changed _by something or other.

Talking to them - and they're surprisingly open about their past, so long as you're a paying customer and not a freeloading paparazzi - seems to indicate that all of them are under a curse of some sort. Whether said curse was inflicted by an enemy or accident they themselves were responsible for seems to vary, but they also seem to not only adapt to this condition, but profit from it. Kind of like Secretariat, that racehorse that owed his incredible speed to his oversized heart, the result of genetic mutation.

Course, one thing they are _very _closemouthed about is the origins of the Troupe itself, or just who Madca is. Still, the more I investigate these odd entertainers, the more I want to know. They seem harmless, after all.

**The Dark of Madca's Troupe: **One of these days, Chester, your recklessness is going to get you killed. Yes, the Troupe is a bunch of performers out for profit, but they are _not _harmless. Now, I'm not saying they're the type who blatantly swindle customers (no more than the typical carnie) and they aren't the type to instigate conflict. _But… _hecklers who mock their talents, openly call them frauds, critics who write unfair reviews, or employers who try to cheat them will eventually regret it. The reason they work in groups of two or three is to make sure they have each other's backs. They are very protective of each other and seem to live by a sort of oath that states it is the responsibility of the Troupe to deliver retribution upon anyone who harms another member - times _three. _

Anyone who harms, cheats, or insults a member of the Troupe can expect to be a victim of _three _retaliatory assaults by other members of the Troupe; such strikes are often karmic, and usually public, done to expose the offender (whether it be as a thief, liar, or hypocrite), frighten, or humiliate the offender in some way. To give some examples here, muscular drunk who insults a strongman's act might find himself in a bar the next night, making wagers on his arm-wrestling ability, winning several times in a row, only to find himself challenged by a little girl, who proceeds defeat him so soundly that the table breaks. I do know that some members of the Troupe have "preferred" tricks that each of them specializes in; hopefully, more of them will be detailed later. Something I witnessed myself was a time where a heckler called a knife-thrower's act (the typical one, where he used his "lovely assistant" as the target) "lame" and suggested it would be less boring if he actually hit her. Eventually, the rowdy spectator was kicked out, and found himself face to face with a duo of knife-jugglers, who gave him a "private show", trapping him in between and then juggling their knives around him, shredding his clothing without even scratching his flesh. It didn't take long for the rather frightened heckler to write an apology letter to the guy he insulted.

Speaking of which, it might be possible to placate the Troupe by offering compensation and an apology. These people aren't _unreasonable, _after all. Most of them, anyway.

Now, I'm not sure why each member has such loyalty to other members; from what I've seen, any two members of the Troupe are not always friends. Some _are _close friends, some are siblings, and a few are even lovers or spouses. However, there are many times where two of the Troupe have a relationship better described as rivals or even enemies. Nonetheless, this does not matter when the "times three" code must be enacted. A performer's hated rival is just as likely to be the one delivering retribution as a close friend.

I should also point out that if an offender resorts to actual violence against a member of the Troupe, the three assaults turn lethal. This is where the crime might be punished with dark curses or dangerous assaults. Cases where offenders are polymorphed or inflicted with a magical addiction or fetish are common. I often wonder if Madca is a powerful fey lord, as a lot of these afflictions seem common to "the fair folk".

As you might assume, I have no idea who Madca is either, but I do know that should someone actually _kill _a member of the Troupe, they'll find out. I assume the "threefold" rule still applies here, but Madca never needs more than one. A murderer will be hunted down like a dog and subjected to what is believed to be the most horrid death imaginable.

**Story Ideas: **Each member of Madca's Troupe is a unique individual; some have potential to be mentors or backers, some have a lot of potential to be villains - or henchmen to other villains - and the group rarely pursues any goal other than wanting to entertain. Possibly, if used as antagonists, the "threefold" policy would be an important part of the plot. While the Troupe is rarely unwarranted in enacting this policy, the punishments they inflict are often disproportionate. And should a third party (like the Shadowchasers) intervene, they aren't above a wager on a certain card game now and then! Still, Duel Monsters is far from the only game they might use; the situations in the original _Yu-Gi-Oh_ manga could provide a trove of ideas for these characters. Indeed, most of the Troupe are the type who believe the actual competition is more exciting than any reward the outcome can provide.

As for who Madca is… Well, for the time being, he (or she, or it, or they) is anything you assume they are. All that matters are, the characters are a troupe, and the troupe is Madca's Troupe.

_More Files to come, and again, if you have an idea for a Shadowchasers File, PM or email me. Or contact me on Skype!_


	3. Off Balance

_Salutations! I hope everyone - at least in the Northern Hemisphere - is doing okay during this bitter and frigid-cold winter. Personally, even after getting over a two-week bout of the flu, I've found benefits of it, able to find a lot of time to write. Hopefully, a lot of folks out there will have a lot of time to read. Lol._

_So, while preparing for the holidays, I found time to put the finishing touches on this new chapter. Enjoy. _

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**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

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**Part Three**

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**Off Balance**

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Lantern Street at least seemed like a safe part of town. As its name suggested, the street was well-lit with plenty of gaslights, and many businesses were still open - of just closing for the night - among expensive-looking houses. It all gave the neighborhood a high-class and comfortable feel. It seemed odd to Nichole that anyone could simply walk up to an orphanage in this part of town, grab one or more of the residents, and leave without being spotted.

"Nichole," said Dugan, "word of advice."

"I know, I know, be indiscreet and let you do the talking."

"Actually, Nichole, just the opposite," he replied. "I think it's best _you _do the negotiating here. After all, they seem more likely to trust someone with that."

She noticed he was looking at her amulet, the one depicting St. Cuthbert's Cross. She nodded, slowly coming to grips with the situation she was in now.

She stepped up to the front door of the orphanage and rapped on the knocker, softly mouthing a quick prayer to herself as she did so.

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_He was being watched._

As Francis strode down the dark streets towards the train station again, he quickly noticed how dark it had gotten, and how creepy it was, now that Nichole and Dugan weren't with him. The gaslights provided much less illumination than the electric streetlights he was used to, and he couldn't help but peer into every alley and dark building he passed by, wondering if…

_Am I being watched?_

He smirked a little, nervously trying to convince himself how ridiculous it was for someone like him to be afraid of the dark. He was a Shadowchaser, after all, it was his job to _protect _people from the things in the dark. That shaman who had given him the tattoos had outright stated it took bravery to use them; so how could he be afraid of the dark?

_Who's there? _

Dugan had told him once about basic training, how instructors told new recruits _not _to suppress such a fear. In fact, they encouraged it, especially in areas where enemies could ambush you. Such a fear reminded you to do things like check a car's interior before opening a door, preferably with a flashlight.

Still, there was something about this place that made him uneasy, something that -

_WHO?_

He shined _his_ flashlight into the alley.

Nothing.

Or rather, _now _it was nothing. Either something _had _been watching him or something was making him _think _so. But whatever it was, along with the eerie feeling, gone now.

With that unpleasant thought in mind, he turned to the large building looming over him. Much like the church had done so, the train station seemed to come up on him rather suddenly. Something in this town sure liked playing games with his head.

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Now, popular culture suggests that orphanages come in two varieties. The first is the "bad kind" like the one Little Orphan Annie grew up in. Such places are staffed by cruel and abusive overseers (often nuns) with antiquated views of "discipline", located in a virtual prison that was clearly not up to code. The "good kind" is reasonably better, with kinder overseers and better living conditions, but never so much that children wouldn't want to leave, because adoption was _always_ portrayed as preferable. The curious thing was that the "good" kind seemed to be better funded, yet the lease always seemed to be owned by some heartless villain who'd prefer the place be leveled to build a shopping mall. A problem the "bad kind" never seemed to have.

Nichole had seen several, and knew that in truth, most orphanages had elements of both. An orphanage tended to be run on donations, and quality depended heavily on the generosity - or lack thereof - of the public. The Lantern Street Orphanage seemed okay to her; it was clean, spacious, and everything seemed to be in good condition.

Still, the place seemed quiet and dark, an air around it that Nichole didn't like. And it was very easy to see why.

"I can't thank you enough for coming, Ms. Belvins," said the old woman, "but I'm afraid there isn't much to say that we haven't already told the city watch. We've tried to keep the children calm and optimistic while continuing daily routine as before, but it's hard."

"I can relate," said Nichole. And she could. Trying to reassure children was one thing, but who would reassure the one trying to reassure?

"I still have no idea how it happened. We don't even know which door the kidnappers came through, they somehow managed to get past padlocked doors without so much as a sound." The headmistress motioned to a door leading to a dormitory, which was also padlocked. "I never thought I'd see the day when we had to keep the children confined like common criminals, and I even doubt it would make a difference now!"

Dugan stopped and looked at the padlock closely. "Uhm, Ms. Mashykk," he asked, "do you remember where you got these locks?"

He had seen locks before, and he knew there were four levels of quality. Poor quality, good quality, high quality, and gnomish-made. Gnomes were known for their love of building, studying, and improving gadgets and mechanical devices, but tended to lack foresight or common sense while doing so, resulting in gnomish inventions being overcomplicated and impractical. Having said that, a gnome who tried to keep something simple could create a masterpiece that transcended anything a human could make. And this lock was clearly made by such a gnome.

"Oh, that would have been hard to forget," replied the matron. "Twelve years ago, we got something of a windfall when some Moroccan royals visited and decided to renovate the building. A locksmith named Keygan Ghelve made the locks and charged an arm and a leg for them. Without the donation we'd never have afforded them."

Dugan flipped it over, noticing the words "Ghelve's Handcrafted Locks and Keys" engraved upon it. He nodded slowly.

"Uhm, Mr. Dugan," continued Mashykk, "seriously, as expensive as the locks were, I truly doubt Mr. Ghelve would be behind such a crime. His family has been well-respected in Cauldron for a _very _long time."

"I promise, Ms. Mashykk, we won't make any undue accusations," said Dugan, with an assuring tone.

_Hopefully, _he added to himself. Then he changed the subject. "Ms. Mashykk, does this building have a basement?"

"Well, yes," she answered, "but there's no way to get to it without first coming inside and entering the kitchen."

"I'd like to at least look at the place if I may." Dugan, of course, knew that some Shadows didn't _need _doors, or at least didn't need the same doors most people used. Of course, he really hoped _this _hunch was wrong.

"And please," said the matron, "call me Catherine."

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"**LAST CALL!"**

Francis heard the engineer's warning as he approached the train station entrance, an indication that the last train out would be leaving within minutes. Not that it mattered to him, as he really had no need to enter the place. Digging through his pocket, he found a special pair of sunglasses, and put them on; doing so revealed an odd, pinkish mist in a trail leading down the street.

_Normally, any trail I could use to follow those thugs would have gone cold fast, _he thought, _but thanks to a little foresight on Nichole's part, the trail he left is still hot._

Even so, he started to hurry, rushing down the street while following the path downhill, away from the church, towards the lake in the center of Cauldron. He noticed there was a rather unsubtle change as he went downhill; in general, buildings seemed more recently made, and less _well-_made. Much like he was moving from uptown into midtown.

He turned for a minute and looked back uphill. _Just the sort of place rich folks would like, _he thought, _where the high class are literally as high as they can get. _

Still, he came to a stop at a small promenade where many businesses were still open, the soft violin music and laughter coming from some of them indicating their purpose. Mostly restaurants, pubs, and a few nightclubs. Finally, the pink mist led him to a place on a side-street with dimly lit windows.

_The Spider's Parlor_

That was the name over the door, over a painted picture of a spider with an unpleasant grin and feminine eyes. The place seemed to be open for business, yet he hesitated a little, considering what clientele might frequent a bar with such a name. If it was a drow bar, humans would likely not be welcome.

He slowly pushed the front door open. The odd smell of scented candles was mixed with that of beer and cigarette smoke.

"Still say we should have waxed that outlander."

Francis found it hard to believe his luck this time. First off, his initial hunch was wrong, this wasn't a place that would be popular with drow. Aside from a bartender - a paunchy, muscular, bald guy with a beard and grey, skin, whom Francis assumed a duergar - the place had only four customers, one at the bar, one slumped over a table, and two at another table off at the corner. Those last two he recognized quickly. One was the male thug Nichole had racked - clearly unaware of the pink residue surrounding him like a musk - while the other was the female thug. They had washed off the makeup and were wearing the hoods down, but hadn't changed clothing otherwise, making them easy to recognize. The female, who Francis now saw was a shadar-kai with dull red hair with a ponytail, seemed to be occupied with a padlock. She was trying to pick the mechanism with an odd metal tool that seemed to be designed especially for that purpose.

"Forget it," she remarked. "We're not being paid for that." She made a frustrated grunt and stopped to look at the still-unopened padlock.

_Paid for it? _thought Francis. _By who?_

"I know Amani, I just don't think -" started the male thug.

"We're not being paid for that either!" snapped the female. She discarded the tool she had been using and picked up a similar one. "I'll do the thinking here, Bigby, all you have to do is _listen, _got it?"

"I dunno," muttered Bigby, "they could be trouble."

"Why should we care?" Finally, with a loud snap, the lock opened. "There!" she said triumphantly. She put it down and took a long swig of her drink before continuing "Some things are better off not knowing." Her eyes moved to Francis. "Speak of the devil. Hello!"

_Said the Spider to the Fly, _thought Francis. Nonetheless, he walked up to the table, keeping a very close eye on their hands, ready to react if either of them went for a weapon.

"How'd you find us?" asked Bigby.

"That's one of those things you two are better off not knowing," replied the Shadowchaser. "So, if you two _are _mercenaries, does your fee include being discreet?"

Bigby was about to answer, but Amani interrupted. "Maybe, maybe not. Maybe we could discuss it over a pint or two?"

Francis looked around, then nodded, sitting in an available chair. "Yo, Phillipe, three cold ones!" shouted Amani, waving to the bartender.

Bigby stood up and turned over to the bartender, who was already pouring beer from a tap.

"I take it this is something else I'm going to have to clean up?" he grumbled. He pushed the tray of beer glasses towards Bigby.

"Don't worry, you'll get your cut."

"Yeah, well, if anyone vomits on the floor this time, the 'cut' had better be bigger."

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"See," continued Catherine, "the basement is also the pantry and storeroom." She opened the kitchen door as she explained this. "So, for ease of access we… _Jasper?"_

As the door opened into the modest-sized kitchen, the matron's quick change of tone was directed towards a hulking figure next to the refrigerator. It was a huge, muscular orc, wearing overalls, a work shirt, and a long coat.

The huge Shadowkind towered over Catherine yet shivered nervously as he turned to meet her stern look.

"Ah, heh," he stammered, "ya caught me!" Turning towards them, they saw he was bald and had a patch covering his right eye, along with an ugly scar on his left chin. He was trying hard to hide something he had stuffed under his overcoat but wasn't very convincing.

"Dinner was less than two hours ago, Jasper," scolded the matron.

"Uh, yeah," he said nervously, "guess I can't pull one over on you Catherine. Heh, guess I'll… have to wait till breakfast."

The huge orc quickly moved past her and the Shadowchasers, simply saying, "Uh, bye!" before retreating down the hall.

"Who was that guy?" asked Dugan.

"One of my best employees," sighed Catherine.

As Nichole watched the huge orc disappear down the hall with suspicious eyes, Catherine noticed something on the counter next to the fridge, a spilled white powder. She ran her finger over it.

"Flour? But Jasper doesn't even like making instant coffee!"

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

"Phillipe" wasn't the bartender's name; it was one of several names they used as a code for any routine they needed his help with, something they had been doing for years. Naturally, Amani and Bigby never intended to tell Francis anything. A common gambit they - and the rest of the Last Laugh - pulled was to feign friendship towards an unsuspecting victim, drink him under the table, and then rob him of everything he had. "Phillipe" was their code for the start of this plan. They had pulled it dozens of times, giving the bartender a percentage of the take and often a few laughs.

Still, to the bartender's surprise, it seemed to be seriously going off-script this time.

Five pints of ale more than what he started with, Bigby was past his limit and passed out on the table. Amani seemed to have higher tolerance than her cohort, but was still giggling like a drunken sorority girl, all while relating a nonsensical anecdote to Francis, who still seemed as sober as he was when he walked in.

"...so, I marched into the throne room, walked right up to the King of Azakstan, grabbed him by the collar, and demanded an apology," she said between laughs. "Anyway… that's how I got elected to the Parliament of Azakstan." She giggled again and started to drain the rest of her glass. "Yeah, uh-huh, unfortunately, if I ever go back there, I'd have to marry him…"

Francis signaled to the bartender. "Yo, Phillipe, two more over here!"

"Comin' up, outlander!" exclaimed the duergar. While he had no idea who was going to pay for the beer right now, he couldn't help but find this whole thing amusing.

"So, Amani was it?" Francis picked up the lock she had been working with. He looked at the back, where the words "Ghelve's Handcrafted Locks and Keys" was inscribed on the back. He didn't know it yet, but this was, indeed, the same model as the one Dugan had examined.

_The locks are key to finding them._

It seemed the easiest part of the riddle; someone had broken into the orphanage by getting past some rather hard locks without making a sound, and the Heart was saying that the locks themselves would give them a clue. He looked at the lockpicks strewn across the table, many of them bent and blunted.

"You good with locks?" he asked.

Amani nodded, then moved closer to him. "C'mere, Francis, tell ya a secret," she said through slurred words. "Know those pay phones in big cities, the ones with those really hard locks?" Francis nodded and she went on. "I was fifteen years old, not a cent to my name, in New York City. Then I found someone who offered to teach me how to pick those locks."

The bartender set two more pints down, and Amani grabbed for hers, nearly spilling it. "Once I learned that trick, I was on easy street. You just need a system."

"System?" asked Francis.

"First you gotta find out what day of the week they collect the coins. Then you do it four days later. You get a lot, but they don't find out for three days! And after you do it a few times in one part of the city, move to a different part."

She started to giggle again between gulps of beer. Francis looked at the lock again closely.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

"You might say I've known Jasper a lot longer than I've known anyone else," said Catherine.

Sitting across from Dugan at the kitchen table and sipping coffee - decaffeinated, naturally - she had barely even noticed that Nichole had somehow slipped away after she had practically insisted on explaining to Dugan the long history she had with the huge - yet easily humbled - refrigerator-raider they had caught in the act.

"Poor Jasper was left here a good forty years ago, shortly after I started running the place. The other children his age treated him horribly. You saw his patch, I assume? He's worn that since he was fourteen, after a particularly wicked child picked a fight with him and gouged it out.

"No prospective adoptive parents ever wanted him. When he turned eighteen, he did odd jobs around Cauldron for about a year, and then just up and left the city. For about ten years I didn't see him at all, and then he showed up again." She paused to sip her coffee. "Said he had joined the army but needed work now. Since then he's been the janitor here, and he's _really _good with the kids."

Dugan was confused. He had no idea how someone with one eye could join any military _he _was familiar with. _Recruitment centers these days would turn a candidate down if he has astigmatism, _he thought.

But he wasn't going to tell Catherine that. "I understand," he finally said. "Sorry I kept you for so long."

As he stood up and went to leave, Catherine said one more thing. "Mr. Dugan, please. If I were to say something like, 'he was a good boy, he'd never hurt anyone,' I'd be lying, and you'd think I was using an old cliché. But know this. If Jasper _was _involved, I'd feel it in my gut."

"I understand," said the Shadowchaser. "One more small favor to ask, can I use your telephone?"

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

"So…" said Francis. "If there was a _really _good lock you needed to open…"

Amani pulled him into a _really _tight embrace. Her breath reeked of the cheap booze. "Lemme tell ya, Francis, as hard as a lock is to open, there's _always _someone who knows how to open it. I mean, nobody puts a lock on something if _nobody _is ever gonna open it. Sometimes, finding someone who knows and opening _him _up is a lot easier than…"

Then, she collapsed, spilling the beer on the table.

Francis got up, straightened his jacket, and moved away from her. She was snoring loudly, clearly having gone past her limit. He finished the rest of his own glass in one gulp, then put it down. Cheap stuff. Not nearly as potent as the dwarven ale he was used to.

He took two 20-sovereign bills and tossed them on the table; an approving nod from the bartender before he left convinced him it was enough. For now, he felt he was on the right track, remembering to pick up the padlock before he left.

As he left the bar, his mobile started beeping. "Dugan?" he asked, answering it. "Yeah, I know. Gnomish?" He listened. He looked at the lock again. "Where? Sure, I think so, just give me five minutes."

He stuffed the lock in his pocket and started back uphill towards the church. Hopefully, he'd meet his two allies halfway.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

The orc's demeanor had changed significantly in the past ten minutes. He plodded down a back street, tightly keeping his overcoat closed, only casually acknowledging the existence of anyone he passed by.

When he reached an alley not far from _The Spider's Parlor, _he quickly looked back and forth to see if anyone was watching, then darted into the alley itself, towards two garbage cans that seemed - to everyone but himself - the same as any other.

He positioned himself slightly beside and slightly behind one of them with his back to the wall and looked around again. He casually took a cigarette out of the overcoat. "I know you're there," he said.

He casually lit the cigarette as three cloaked figures walked out of the shadows. Well, maybe not "walked". It was as if the darkness itself had retreated to make their presence known, and the figures didn't seem to walk so much as _slither_. Even with his eyes, which were far more at home in darkness than human eyes were, he couldn't see the features of these three Shadowkind; all he saw was one tall figure and two short ones, both dressed in disheveled, dirty, and ragged clothing, with hoots or hats that covered most of their faces.

"Right on time, Jasper," said the tall one. "Briar always liked those that were punctual."

"Where's Trevor?" growled the orc.

"He also said you weren't the type to ask questions," said the tall one, the tone not as polite this time. "Another trait he admired."

"And where the devil _is _Briar anyway?" snarled Jasper.

"_That _is none of your business," replied the tall one, "and as for your first question, he is in _much _better condition than you'll be if you keep poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"You guys must really think I'm stupid," growled Jasper.

In reply, the tall one moved his right hand into the light while slightly moving his sleeve, the obvious intent being to show Jasper the brass knuckles on it. Jasper grinned widely.

"Think that scares me? You wanna come over here and show me you guys are more than all talk?"

The tall one slammed his right fist into his left palm, a gesture Jasper took as an acknowledgement of his challenge. He was only half right, as the two small figures lifted their hoods slightly, enough to show pinpoints of light within that suggested eyes. Not the energetic, glowing red eyes like those of a drow, nor the soft glowing light from a svirfneblin. The eyes of these creatures was a cold light that seemed to lack any soul. And there were now about a dozen or so pairs of these eyes staring at him from the surrounding shadows.

"Another thing Briar liked about you, Jasper, was that you were easy to manipulate. But it seems that is no longer the case."

As he lunged for the orc, Jasper opened his overcoat and grabbed a weapon of his own, slashing at the tall figure.

"WATCH OUT! HE'S GOT A STEAK KNIFE!" The shout didn't come from the tall figure, but from a voice overhead from someone that Jasper couldn't see. It didn't matter to him. He grabbed the garbage can he was partially using as cover, knocked it over, and gave it a strong kick, bowling over three of the small creatures as they leapt for him.

"You ain't too smart yourself!" he grunted. His fist hit the next one, and then another of the tall creatures - or maybe the same one, hard to tell, stood up, now pointing a _real _weapon at him. Jasper wasn't about to give him a chance to use it; as the tall figure aimed the revolver at him, the orc hurled a paper bag at his face, breaking into a cloud of flour, the same flour he had pilfered - along with the knife - from the orphanage kitchen. The figure cursed and coughed, briefly, before the orc's fist belted him in the face.

Finally, Jasper lifted the lid on the _other _garbage can, lifting from it the baseball bat he had stashed there before the sun went down. More of the small ones leapt at him, and he swung twice, then again…

"ARGH!"

It was the last thing he expected; he had hit at least two of them, he had felt it, but doing so seemed to cause a bright flash of light that blinded him for a second or two. As he rubbed his only good eye, the tall figure - or again, maybe a different one - slugged him in the face, harder than he had expected.

The bat fell from his hand and rolled away from him. _Damn, _he thought. He rubbed his jaw. For some reason, he had never expected one of the tall ones to be very tough, but then, he didn't know much about them at all. He partially stood up and tried to scamper after it. "Got to…"

As he reached for the weapon, a boot fell on it. Jasper looked up, meeting the eyes of the human above him.

"And you call yourself an orc," said Dugan, slowly shaking his head.

"Who is _this?" _said that same voice from before.

Dugan looked at the mob, then made a swift motion with his other foot, swinging the bat upward and grabbing it by the handle.

"Uh," said Jasper.

"You were using this wrong," continued Dugan, "_this _is how you use a bat on a perp!"

The tall figure tried to go for his gun again but was quickly socked upside the head and tumbled over. Unfortunately, now there was no denying it, there were indeed two more of the tall creatures, and at least nine of the small ones, all of them with knives and clubs.

Jasper scrambled to his feet, coughed once, and held his chest briefly. "Keep the trademark over your head," ordered Dugan. He shoved the bat back into the orc's hand. "You might break it otherwise."

"I'll kill you both!" shouted the first tall one. This time, as he lunged, Dugan saw the creature's face briefly. A pale-white face with sunken eyes, almost no nose or mouth, and a bald head. However, he only took note of those features via memory later, because this time, he slugged the creature hard, not taking note of specifics.

"HEY!" shouted Nichole's voice. The other two tall ones started to turn around, but one quickly got a kick to the face from her while the other was tackled by Francis. The smaller ones turned briefly, and then back to Jasper and Dugan, the latter of which had produced his blunderbuss from his coat and was aiming at them. He fired, and again, there was that painful flash of light.

Francis covered his eyes, not expecting the flash any more than Jasper had. "Ugh, think you can warn us the next time you do that Dugan?"

_What exactly did I do? _thought Dugan. The gun was on the lowest setting, and the blast had only been powerful enough to knock an average Shadow over, but when he fired, it was as if he had aimed, shot, and the target had… _exploded. _

One of the small creatures - or maybe two of them - or, for that matter, maybe all of them - started some sort of odd whispering. Strange, ominous whispering in some unknown language.

_Dammit, _thought Dugan, who was starting to catch on. He cocked the gun and pointed it at them."You all just keep your hands where I can see -"

Then, the whole alley was plunged into complete, inky, total darkness. The three Shadowchasers - and even Jasper - had been plunged into what seemed to be the darkest type of darkness. _Unnatural _darkness.

"Aw, shit," he said.

There was no longer any doubt in Francis' mind, someone _had _been watching him before… But now that these Dark Creepers had decided to show themselves, he almost regretted his discovery.

_AND…. That's a good place to stop. _

_Happy holidays everyone, and a happy 2020! Before you leave, check out this new Shadowchaser Files, courtesy of my frequent co-author (for Tournament of Shadows) MultiplePersonas!_

**Shadowchaser Files**

**Organizations: Clarilla's Web; The Familiar Communication Network**

Have you ever seen that person that actually walks around with a boa constrictor wrapped around their shoulders? Like, they not only keep a live snake – a deaf, coldblooded predator with about as much capacity for love as the average doorknob – as a pet, but wear it as an accessory? Sure, it's not about to eat anybody (probably), but unless this person is a snake charmer or erotic dancer, it can't be comfortable for either of them.

Or maybe not. When Shadowkind and magic is considered, there's more than a slight chance that that's no _real _snake, but a magical familiar. Probably. There's a lot of attention-seekers out there. Of course, even if the owner _is _some sort of sorcerer, they're probably a hipster wearing a snake to be different. There aren't a lot of reasons to choose a huge snake as your familiar's form; most familiars are cats or other "respected" animals for precisely this reason.

It seems necessary to summarize just what a familiar is, because it's no mere pet. Familiars themselves are magical creatures given new form, conjured from another realm via magical contract to bestow new, greater powers on their masters. In a way, they are living "amplifiers" for magic; much like your computer can benefit if you install extra memory, a familiar can strengthen a wizard's magic in a variety of ways. As far as Good and Evil goes, they tend to go across the board, from the purest of heart to the darkest, so long as it aligns with their master. Familiars rarely have much against their masters; the occasional spat over housing and choice of food happen, but outright betrayal is nearly unheard of. The form they take is chosen by the master when the contract is finalized, so cats, dogs, and birds are common, as well as occasional rats, hamsters, mice, etc. But if a person decides to study magic, there's more than a slight chance they aren't content doing what's "normal".

Case in point, Hecatrix Ravenswood (real name Amber Smith). She was just a high school student in Alberta, Canada when she went through a goth phase and became Aware, quickly accepting real-life witchcraft as her new passion. It wasn't long before she summoned a familiar and chose a particularly unique form for it: a goliath bird-eating spider. Even worse, she took to taking it with her everywhere, placing it on her back like a novelty backpack. The familiar, Clarilla, while reasonably content with Hecatrix and her goals of…well, whatever a girl finding herself with witchcraft has planned, had a deep and instant dislike for her new form. When people see a giant spider, the usual reaction is to either scream, bolt in fear or try to kill it—and if it's on a girl's back, it's usually the latter. Hands and blunt objects were always flying at Clarilla, and students were constantly trying to crush her with textbooks, but Hecatrix had deaf ears for it. After all, a familiar can't die so long as its master lives, so who cares about a swat here and there?

(I should mention here that anyone who deals with wizards, especially young ones, can tell you that they tend to be rather eccentric.)

It turned out, though, that many familiars have similar issues with the forms chosen for them, especially the younger ones. It's a rough life not having thumbs, for starters, or having to keep quiet around most people; some who were lucky enough to have been given the "traditional" cat form found humans that _love _cats even more annoying than those who don't. Then there the fleas, lousy food, having to do your business in a box… And many had masters far crueler than Hecatrix. Worst of all was having to associate with animals of the same type. The point is, they had complaints. Clarilla soon found out that there were support groups all over the internet, and even meetings on Skype. The venting helped, but Clarilla had bigger plans. With assistance from their masters all over the world, familiars have tapped into a system of ley lines and other magical gobbledygook that created a network that allows all familiars, all over, to communicate telepathically, just by willing it.

Often without their masters' knowledge or consent.

**Story Ideas**

Only familiars seem to have the power to access this strange system, deemed Clarilla's Web, but it kicked off faster than most social media. A familiar is normally a rather lonely creature doomed to only interact with one mortal; now they can reach out to each other for just about anything. Human wizards with familiars are fans as well – it's a quick and easy way to compare notes and research without leaving an online trail.

This likely won't hold an entire story, but it makes a hell of a plot device for quick communication in places without a signal (provided they're on Earth). Of course, if a network can be created, it can be blocked, but that requires specific action. As it is, it makes for a good tool in a sorcerer's ever-growing arsenal of tricks, and almost certainly a source of comic relief to see familiar's complaining to each other.

There is of course, a darker possibility, using the old axiom of something that is potentially dangerous "only in the wrong hands". Familiars are hardly stupid (they work for wizards, after all) but they tend to have a naive outlook on the world, much the same way children do. As such, cybercrimes like identity theft, cyberstalking, and internet fraud could easily be committed by a familiar owned by a darker wizard; such wizards would not be above manipulating his own familiar to commit such atrocities.

Perhaps the _most _potential from this network would involve a Shadowjack or Technomage. Nothing says this sort of wizard can't have familiars - though such familiars might be even stranger than a boa constrictor - and the possibilities can be rather far-reaching. Just _imagine _a Shadowjack's familiar planning to use a magical version of the ILOVEYOU malware virus and the bedlam that would result...


	4. Vendetta

_Hello everyone! Well, it's been a long January, a month that tends to be a price for the holiday season being so festive and joyous. I've had a lot of things occupying my time, including work, a new diet (I'm serious this time!) the flu hitting me and my entire family, and the enhanced edition of _Neverwinter Nights _that my brother got me for Christmas. (What?)_

_Be that as it may, I've still had time to write. Maybe this next chapter is a _little _long compared to my others, so I'd advise putting aside some time, getting hot chocolate, a pizza, and some music, and then reading it. At least, that's how I wrote it._

_Enjoy._

**0-0-0-0-0**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Part Four**

**Vendetta**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**0-0-0-0-0**

The World of Shadow was full of mysteries, but some mysteries were so _mysterious _that they hindered each attempt to unravel them. Such was the case of the enigmatic race of Shadows called dark creepers. At least, that's what they were called by humans and most other Shadows. A few called them "darklings", "dark ones", or "dark folk", but whatever name they called themselves, nobody knew. Assuming the odd noises they made was a language at all, it had defied any attempts at translation, and they seemed unable or unwilling to communicate with most other creatures.

But a few things were known about these sneaky, creepy humanoids, mostly that they _hated _light, and had some sort of magic that could cause darkness. A _strange _type of darkness, that was not just the absence of light, but a negation of it. And while they could see in the dark, they did so far better than other Shadows who could do so. Some theorized that their eyes were the inverse of human eyes, in that they could see perfectly in no light at all, and the more light there was, the less acute their vision was, until broad daylight blinded them completely.

The three Shadowchasers and the orc they had come trying to help were experiencing the effects of this firsthand.

"Get _off _of me you little creeps!" screamed Nichole, trying to pry away the four sets of hands trying to drag her to the floor. "Francis!"

"Kinda busy here!" he shouted back. "OW! Dammit, I swear the minute I'm able to see you guys…"

Dugan was, at the moment, trying to resist the urge to shout the foulest cuss words imaginable at the creatures. Two of were clawing at his face, two had grabbed his legs, and _another _two were trying to wrench the blunderbuss away from him. The one saving grace was, these creatures weren't very strong, but the chattering around him indicated that more of them were coming…

"LAWN DART!" shouted a voice.

While the three Shadowchasers quickly recognized Gregor's voice, only Nichole realized what the short phrase meant, along with the loud "CA-CHUNK" that came after. She closed her eyes tight as a bright, brilliant flash of light illuminated the alley, followed by screams from the dark creepers. Dugan, Francis, and Jasper were shocked by the blinding flash, but as the creepers let go of him, he barely saw one of those tall creatures in front of him, moving towards him with a long knife…

_Not in this lifetime, _he thought, and slammed the creature in the general area of the face with the haft of his weapon, then followed with his right fist.

Dugan looked oddly at his own fist; he had knocked his foe down, but it was as if he had punched dough. But there was no time to figure that out now. The tall figure grunted something in another Shadowkind language; Dugan recognized it, but he wasn't going to take the time to translate. He gave the haft of the blunderbuss a twist - increasing the setting by two - pointed, and fired, _twice,_ the force of the blows producing a scream from the tall figure and sending it crashing into a pile of trash bags.

"About time you got here, Greg," said Nichole, between gasping breaths.

Francis and Dugan now saw the source of the bright light, an orb on the end of a scepter that had embedded in the center of the alleyway with like a javelin. Surrounding it were about five or six sets of clothing in piles of ashes.

"Took me a while to find this," he said. He picked up the device, and the light dimmed, then collapsed to the size of a small rod. "I really have to get around to cleaning out the storeroom."

"Dark creepers?" gasped Francis. "Is this Cauldron's idea of 'normal'?"

'Frankly, no," said Gregor. "At least _I've_ never seen them here before." He looked at Jasper. "Who's your friend?"

"Someone who I'd say knows something those creatures don't want us to know," said Dugan. "Though we have no idea what it is."

Meanwhile, the person in question was sitting on the ground, holding his side and grumbling orcish expletives. He had been stabbed, but he looked far more embarrassed by the wound than hurt by it.

"Come on, big guy, we'd best get that bound," said Francis.

"I can stand on my own!" snapped the orc, then moaned in pain as he tried to. Sweat was pouring down his brow as he finally managed. "Take me somewhere safe and I'll tell you everything. Those things -"

"Uh, Dugan," said Nichole, interrupting. "Didn't you just shoot one of those guys?"

She was looking at the trash bags the tall one had fallen into. As she cautiously went to move them, Greg lifted the staff with the light.

Nothing. No body, not even any indication there had _been _someone there. The tall one had somehow gotten up and slipped away in the few minutes they had just been talking to Greg. Dugan checked his weapon; yes, he had indeed set it to the second-highest setting and had fired it twice, something that he doubted most Shadows could have just walked away from.

"We'll try, Jasper," he said, "but I'm starting to doubt _any _place in Cauldron is safe right now."

**Interlude**

_**Seven years ago, South Deering, aka "the Hive". **_

In the weeks following her attempted suicide, Nichole had gotten a part time job waiting tables at one of the nicer restaurants in South Deering. As generous as St. Cuthbert's House had been, she and her mother still had bills to pay. Of course, in this part of town, a "nice restaurant" meant "_actual _restaurant", and not a restaurant that was a front for something illicit. Nichole quickly figured out that one of the most useful skills in a business like this was restraint. Which was about to be tested.

"Okay!" she said to three customers, in a beaming voice. "Grilled cheese with bacon, BLT with extra B and no mayo, and turkey sandwich with provolone and horseradish! Can I get you folks anything else?"

"Naw, we're good," said one of them.

Of course, when she turned to leave, the guy gave her a gentle slap on the behind. Nichole's fist clenched and her eyes scrunched, remembering how he'd done the same thing twice before, but she quickly relaxed both as she walked to the order counter, picking up three tips from tables on the way. What was a little pride when money was at stake?

"Calm down, Nichole." The assurance came from Beth, the other waitress. "Take my word for this, sooner or later, guys like him do that to someone they shouldn't."

While Nichole welcomed the friendly hug Beth offered, she also shivered a little. She had only been able to see the Shadows for about a month, and Beth was obviously a Shadow, an odd creature with pink skin, pink, curly hair, and eyes that seemed completely black, with no irises or pupils. Nichole had no idea what Beth was, and had no idea if she'd be offended if she asked. Did Beth even _know _Nichole could see her true self? It was unnerving.

"Hey, Nichole!"

_This _time, the urge to anger was much, _much_ worse. Three boys and a girl, all four about her age had entered the diner. All of them were members of the Blue Serpents. Brad and Cora were two whom she was indifferent towards, but Derrick and Joel were two she despised almost as much as Sven. Both had been close friends of Marc, and had been friendly towards Nichole for a while, almost to the point of being surrogate brothers. But ever since Marc was arrested, their attitude towards her had become more… indecent.

They were longtime members of the gang who had quite a lot of say in Sven's decisions. She often grimly wondered if at least part of the reason Marc had been chosen as a fall-guy was because they had wanted her as a replacement, simply to get in her pants, a goal they never dared pursue when Marc was around.

The two waitresses watched the teens sit down, and Beth guessed right away why Nichole was irked. "Do you want me to -" she started.

"I'll handle this," she said. She straightened herself and cleared her throat, walking to the table with her pen handy. "May I help you?" she asked, in as cheerful a manner as she could muster.

"Hey, Nichole!" exclaimed Derrick, "ain't this a surprise!"

"Uh, Sven said she would be -" stated Brad, stopping short when Joel elbowed him in the ribs.

"May I take your order?" asked Nichole, her cheery attitude starting to slip.

"Nichole, seriously," said Joel. He put his hand somewhere he really shouldn't have, the simmering rage inside Nichole now close to a boil. "Sven told me to tell you he feels upset about this whole deal. He wants to talk."

The rather blatant lie would have been more convincing if his hand wasn't on her behind. She coldly responded, "Then maybe Sven himself should come here."

"Uh, he isn't allowed here any -"

"SHUT IT, Brad!" snapped Derrick. He made a slashing motion across his throat and Joel removed the hand. He turned to Nichole and went on with a different tone: "It's not like he's looking for some henchman, you know. He sees a lot of potential in you; you want to waste it in this place?"

"I'll think about it," she said, which was also a lie, "but for now, we kind of have a rule against loitering here."

"Uh, I'll have a cheeseburger," said Joel, quickly.

"Uh, same here," said Brad, just as quickly, "just no mayo."

"Tuna salad," Cora. "Rye bread."

"And you?" she said to Derrick, who had gained a mischievous-looking smirk in the last few seconds.

"Okay, Nichole," he said, "I'll have a double-triple Bessie on a raft, 4x4, animal style, extra shingles with a shimmy and a squeeze, light axle grease, make it cry and burn it! Uhm, with fries."

"Show off," said Cora.

Nichole looked at him funny, but then smiled sweetly again and said, "Whatever you say, Dagwood!"

Of course, she got a not-so-playful slap on the ass from him as she turned around. The darker side of her mind started forming a plan that involved coming back with the carving knife in the kitchen and using it disembowel him.

Another part of her mind started to form a more coherent plan of revenge…

**End of Interlude**

The infirmary of the church - also a free clinic at times - was large enough to house five patients and had equipment that would feel at home in both a doctor's office and an alchemy lab. Nichole would later learn that the other three primary churches in Cauldron had clinics like this; while Cauldron did have a few "regular" clinics, they were rather pricey these days, both due to high quality and _very _high adherence to confidentiality.

Illywen carefully bandaged the wound as both Gregory and Jenya silently kept their eyes on him from the far side of the room, behind the three Shadowchasers. Jasper still felt more embarrassed than hurt.

"Well, this was a bad cut, but you'll live," assured Illywen.

"Well, that's just peachy," grumbled Jasper. "I was really hoping to avoid doing it myself."

"I'm going to assume right now that was a joke," scolded Nichole, "but it was a _very _bad one. You going to tell us just what the deal is with you and those creeps?"

Jasper gave a long, tired sigh. "Okay, fine, but if you want to turn me in once it's over, promise me you won't tell Catherine, okay? I owe that woman everything."

The three Shadowchasers nodded slightly, so he went on:

Jasper's explanation started innocently enough. Three months ago, a local hangout he frequented closed, so he had to find a new one. He found one in _The Spider's Parlor, _a place that, Francis was now nearly certain, was a popular hangout for the Last Laugh. And it was there he met a member of the group, a shifty halfling named Briar.

At first, Briar seemed harmless, and the two had shared quite a few drinks over stories of their pasts and prospects for their futures. Until one day, Briar asked the orc if he was interested in some easy money, offering 500 Sovereigns _per week _simply to watch Trevor, a ten-year-old boy at the orphanage, one Jasper was very close to. Supposedly, all Jasper would have to do was make sure Trevor stayed there and never stood out among the other children.

While Jasper was slightly intoxicated at the time Briar made the first offer, he was sober enough to smell a rat, and told Briar to get lost. _Not _the actual words he used.

Two nights after that, Briar confronted him with three of the tall guys and six of the creepers. (Up to now, he had only called these creatures "tall guys" and "short guys", and he had never heard of "dark creepers" before, although he'd later say the name was fitting.) The halfling upped his offer to 700 a week and as a further means of "persuasion", let slip some information about Jasper that the orc _really _wasn't proud of.

"Does this have something to do with your time in the army?" asked Dugan. When Jasper nodded, Dugan added, "Which army was this anyway?"

"Well, kinda depends on how you define 'army'," replied the orc. "Ever hear of the Alleybashers?"

The answer was affirmative to everyone in the room; the Alleybashers were a group of mercenaries well-known around Africa and south Asia as a group who'd do anything for an employer who required a lot of muscles, minimum brainpower, and no questions asked. Since World War II, they were a "dirty little secret" for many governments who needed cheap soldiers. It was neither a dignified nor honorable way to make money, and members often ended up working as bodyguards for smugglers, pirates, and worse.

"So why on earth did they want you to watch one kid?" asked Francis.

"Beats me," said Jasper with a shrug. "He just told me to watch if anything 'out of the ordinary' happened and to meet him every week so I could relay anything that did. But nothing did, the weekly meetings got boring, and before long, I was seeing less of Briar and more of those weird creeps you saw in the alley. I don't think I've seen him for about a month now."

"And Trevor was one of the kidnapped victims?" asked Nichole.

Jasper's reply was a slow, sad nod. "What happened tonight was supposed to be the latest - and I presume last - weekly report. I was starting to feel that Briar would show up to give one of those 'outlived your usefulness' speeches and had hoped to get the jump on him and force the location of the kids out of him. So, I went there _last _night and stowed the baseball bat in the trash. I swear, if I ever _do _see the little runt again, I'm gonna grab him by his scrawny neck and -"

"Okay, Jasper, okay, that's enough!" interrupted Jenya. She nodded to the three Shadowchasers, indicating that she wanted to talk to them outside.

"So, what do we do with him?" asked Francis.

As she closed the door, Jenya shook her head, "I don't think he's lying, but it seems we've got far more problems now. And it's almost midnight, I doubt we can accomplish much else until morning."

"Agreed," said Dugan. "One of those thugs did at least suggest Trevor was alive, which in turn suggests the same for the others. If they're indeed somewhere under Cauldron, I doubt those creatures could move them very far in the next few hours."

"Hell, Dugan," said Francis, "for all you know they can fly!"

It was a very valid point, but there was little else that could be done until morning, and everyone knew they wouldn't sleep well because of it.

**Interlude**

After a good twenty minutes, Nichole brought the orders to the table, including the _huge _hamburger Derrick had ordered, which was, after translation, _twenty-four_ beef patties with four slices of cheese on _each _patty, every condiment with extra special sauce and grilled onions, well done, on toast in place of a bun, with butter on said bun. With fries.

"_Bon appetit,"_ she said, sweetly.

"Well, that explains the Dagwood thing," said Cora with a short laugh.

"Uh, we'd like separate checks, please," said Brad, signaling to Nichole.

"You gonna eat those fries?" asked Joel.

"SHUT UP," replied Derrick.

A good ten minutes after this, Derrick and Joel were by the pay phone in the short corridor by the restrooms, Derrick searching his pockets for a quarter. Naturally, he had no idea Nichole would have interpreted the order so well and hoped to embarrass her, only for the attempt to backfire completely. Even worse, after paying for it with the cash Sven gave them, he would likely be bringing back far less change than Sven expected. "Crazy, smart-ass bitch," he mumbled. "Thinks she's so…"

"You really think she's gonna think about it?" said Joel.

"Oh sure, she's gonna invite the whole gang over to Wendy's so we can discuss it over Frosties." Seeing Joel's confused reaction, he added, "Of _course _she's not gonna think about it! Damn you're thick. Go see if you can bum a quarter from Brad and Cora, and tell them we're moving to plan-B."

That, of course, meant grabbing Nichole and letting her "think about it" on their terms, but a blatant act of kidnapping wasn't something only four of them were going to do in broad daylight.

"_Oh, boys?" _said Nichole.

They turned around, and Nichole was looking at them seductively. She started to unbutton the top three buttons on her shirt as she spoke to them.

"You know, I get off work in three hours, how's about you guys meet me at the old lot down the street so we can talk about that offer?" She bent over slightly, the unbuttoned shirt now calling attention to her cleavage. "I can make you guys a _much _better sandwich then, you know?"

"Uh, sh-sure Nichole, sure," stammered Derrick.

Nichole turned around, suggestively moving her hips as she did.

"Cancel plan-B," he gasped.

_Frosties, huh? _thought Nichole. As she buttoned her shirt, she smirked at the irony of him mentioning a dessert that was best served cold...

**End of Interlude**

The next morning dawned with cold and dreary weather in Cauldron, a result of a sheet of ugly gray clouds sweeping down out of the mountains over the night.

While the three Shadowchasers had, as expected, slept little out of worry, the breakfast served in the refectory wasn't much to talk about. Francis wasn't sure the cereal in front of him was properly called porridge or gruel, and while Nichole claimed it had a lot of protein, vitamins, and all that stuff, it was bland and almost tasteless. At least Coffee's homemade brew was rather strong this time.

"Dugan, you don't actually _like _that?" asked Francis, who noticed that the older Shadowchaser was eating with gusto.

"Hell no, but I've had worse," Dugan replied. "You two should try the stuff we had in basic training, now _that _was bad."

"So, to address the elephant in the room," said Nichole.

"Right," said Dugan. He finished his coffee and wiped his mouth. "Here's what we know. This Last Laugh group is involved in some sort of kidnapping and likely trafficking operation where the perps somehow got through _very _difficult locks. Obviously, whoever did it had a key."

"Possibly a _master _key," added Nichole.

"But I'm pretty sure they're only hired help," added Francis. He set the lock he had gotten from Amani on the table. "Amani was practicing trying to open this, and wasn't doing very well at all, and she bragged about being able to pick phone locks. Right before telling me that the _easiest _way to get past a hard lock is to 'unlock' whoever made it."

"Seeing as the Last Laugh seems to be the type who'd resort to blackmail and extortion, it seems the next step is obvious." Nichole turned the lock over and again read the inscription on the back. "We have to check this place out and talk to Mr. Ghelve."

Dugan nodded, and they stood up. "This isn't going to be easy," he said. "Up to now we've been taking baby steps. Is everyone ready to take the risk and move up to intermediate?"

Francis nodded. "Dugan, if I always played it safe, I'd be in another line of work."

"Well said, Francis," replied Nichole. "Just let me go get one thing from Gregor, _then _I'll be ready."

**Interlude**

The cold November weather didn't make the lot - an unofficial junkyard - seem like an ideal meeting place. Derrick and Joel found a fire burning in a trash can near the center of the lot, undoubtedly lit by some vagrants - who oddly enough, were nowhere in sight.

"This whole thing is making me nervous," muttered Joel.

"What?" asked Derrick. "You think Marc's little sister is gonna pull a fast one? Joel, think about it, one of her, two of us, do the math."

Nichole would have loved to use that as a set-up to ask him when he learned to count, but this wasn't the time. She was crouching behind an old car corpse, not ten meters behind Joel, clutching a mace in both hands. It was a primitive weapon, but learning to fight with one was a tradition for the group she had just joined. Legend claimed that St. Cuthbert himself started out as a mortal commoner with a plain old club.

_A hero who started with nothing but a club… _

She shook her head back to reality and looked towards them. It had only gone too well. She had gathered her tip money, stashed the leftovers the manager had told her to dispose of (which according to Beth, was permission to eat it herself), and used $30 of the tip money to buy three packs of cigarettes. She made a quick stop at St. Cuthbert's House to get the mace and then arrived at the vacant lot, where she used the food, cigarettes, and the rest of her tips to bribe the homeless there simply to leave for a few hours, giving them the business card for the soup kitchen as a bonus.

Now, it was only her and them.

She would have loved later to say that the two Blue Serpents had never seen it coming, but that would have been lying; Derrick saw her first, and his expression caused Joel to turn around at the last second - not that it helped him…

**End of Interlude**

The streets of Cauldron weren't exactly deserted, but outside activity was slow this morning. After all, in most places, a rainy Sunday would convince most citizens to stay indoors and sleep in, and Cauldron was really no different.

'

Still, a few places were opening up, a bakery and a street vendor here and there. Francis took an interest in a vendor selling what looked like grilling sausage, but Nichole grabbed him with a quick, "Not now!" to his disappointment.

"Well, here we are," said Dugan.

Ghelve's Locks was a compact, two-story shop that fronted onto Ash Street, flanked by other buildings of indeterminate purpose. Its identity was proclaimed by a large sign bearing the image of a large padlock with a silly face, next to a key with a similar face.

They had asked the other acolytes and church staff about Keygan Ghelve, and the only thing they all could agree on was that he was a gnome responsible for most of the locks in the city. Everything else was opinion and hearsay, mostly that the gnome was skilled at his trade, rather introspective, and - possibly - a practitioner of illusion magic.

"You sure the place is open today?" asked Francis. "It is Sunday."

"He's a gnome," Dugan said. "Trust me, it's open."

As if to confirm her words, the door to the shop opened, and someone stepped into the street. The individual was a lean, furtive-looking man with hints of elvish ancestry in his features, wearing a plain leather jerkin and stiff coat of hardened, cured leather. He started slightly in surprise at the three Shadowchasers, then quickly turned and headed down Ash Avenue in the opposite direction.

"Brr," said Francis.

"Well, let's hope that Mr. Ghelve is friendlier," Nichole said, heading for the door.

A small bell attached to the jam tinkled faintly as they entered, announcing their presence, and they walked into a warmer, more welcome place than the dreary outdoors. The front room of the shop was like a cross between a jewelry store and a cozy den, with a crackling fire burning in the hearth along the left wall, flanked by a pair of plushy, comfy-looking armchairs. On the mantle above the hearth was a large oil painting of a white-haired gnome sitting in one of the chairs, stroking a small dog - an adorable Corgi puppy - in his lap while looking towards them. To the right a long mahogany counter ran along the wall, with a curtained exit behind it. Glass display cases lined the back wall, holding a variety of locks and keys.

Almost before the little bell had stopped its tinkling, the shopkeeper burst through the curtain into the front room. He was an odd fellow, a gnome of middle years, his nose, ears, and eyebrows exaggerated and almost comical. Perhaps most startling was the fact that he walked on stilts—actual wooden stilts!—that put him on eye level with the three humans. He looked a lot like the one in the painting, although far more fatigued. His features were a bit ragged, with dark circles under his eyes, but he composed himself quickly and addressed them in a slightly squeaky voice.

"Yes, what is it? How can I help you, what do you want?"

Nichole turned slightly to Dugan, and after a nod from him, cleared her throat and addressed the locksmith. "Well!" she said boldly, with a disarming smile, giving the gnome a good up-and-down look before making eye contact. "We're interested in locks, silly! Why else would we be here?"

The gnome harrumphed, but as they started talking, it was clear that her manner was catching hold. The locksmith shot a few suspicious glances at Francis and Dugan, who were both pretending to examine the shop

"Well, then, right this way. Did you have anything specific in mind?"

"I'm looking for a gift for a friend of mine. A half-dragon…"

Nichole could hear the cash registers ringing in the gnome's head. She wasn't technically lying - even if Jalal's birthday was three months down the line and she likely would just get him a gift card - but most Shadows knew that half-dragons tended to be rich, narcissistic types who enjoyed flattery, much like their draconic parents, and this wasn't far from the truth. The gnome locksmith figured that _any _gift given to a half-dragon would have to be both pricey and _unique_.

He cleared his throat. "Certainly, certainly, right over here. Now, this is one of my most recent models."

Nichole looked closely at the lock on the chest he indicated, a padlock shaped like a wolf's head, with the keyhole in its open jaws.

"Here, this is the key," said the gnome. "Try opening it."

Nichole raised an eyebrow, taking the key - which was, like the lock, made of brass - and then looked closer at the lock. She carefully moved the key towards it…

"ROWR!" The wolf's head actually came to life, barking violently at her and causing her to drop the key. She scrambled away from it, even as it growled angrily.

"Guess it doesn't like you much," said Ghelve.

"So how -" started Nichole.

"Easy, easy!" assured the gnome. "See, this guy doesn't like folks he just met, but once you own it for a day, it's as friendly as a puppy. _But, _if some stranger tries to get at whatever's in the chest, it's sure to wake up anyone in the house, Plus the neighbors."

"Uhm…" said Nichole. "Maybe something a bit less… loud."

"Hmm, okay, here's another good one. I call this the Grouchy Lock."

This time, Ghelve indicated chest with a lock shaped like a sulking, frowning face, the keyhole where the mouth should be. Again, he produced a key, made of iron rather than brass, although the lock itself was again made of brass.

"This is actually a skeleton key," he explained.

"Really," added Francis. "Where'd you dig _that _up?"

"Heh, funny. Go on, try it."

A little more cautious this time, Nichole moved the key towards the lock; meeting no objection, she fit it in the keyhole and tried to jimmy it open… Then gave a slight scream as the lock actually _bit into the key!_

"Heh, that one doesn't like it when you give it the wrong key!" laughed Ghelve. Nichole watched as the Grouchy Lock chewed up the part it had bitten off, then spit out a chewed-up piece of metal. "You can open it with the _proper _key, but anyone trying to use a wire, hairpin, file, or any other sort of lockpick is in for a big surprise. Of course, I wouldn't recommend this one to a house with small children, but -"

"Hmm!" said Nichole, loudly. She stood up, then sadly shook her head. "Not exactly what I'm looking for…"

Ghelve smirked as she looked him in the eye. "Heh, I know what a lady wants. Right this way…"

He threw aside the curtain on the far wall, the back room was slightly larger than the front area of the shop, and was apparently a storage area. A large bay window to the right was set out as a display of the locksmith's wares to passersby on the street outside, and a compact staircase in the rear of the room led up to a balcony that overlooked the room and obviously offered access to the second story of the shop. Three considerable oak chests were arranged in the center of the floor, and a few tables were pushed up against the far wall, underneath a portrait of a silver-haired gnome, much older-looking than Ghelve. Some crates were stacked in a corner, underneath the stairs going from the first floor to the second.

Dugan nodded, and Francis he casually followed Ghelve and Nichole into the back room. As the locksmith led her to the chests in the center, he stood in a place where he had full view of the entire storeroom.

Dugan resumed his inspection of the front room, drawn to a set of framed photographs of Ghelve, all of them with the same puppy he had in the big portrait, although in one of them, the dog was older.

As he examined the photo, he sat in one of the comfy-looking armchairs and received a surprise - it wasn't comfy at all, it was hard as a rock.

_What the, _he thought. He got up, and looked at the chair, which he now realized, seemed far too big to be in a gnome's house. Then noticed the small red button on the seam of the chair where the back met the seat-cushion. Which wasn't a cushion. He carefully pushed it.

The fire in the fireplace disappeared, and then the fireplace itself seemed to disappear. _An illusion? _thought Dugan. The fireplace's absence had revealed a small entrance about four feet high, a useful doorway for a gnome, but a tight one for a human. Nonetheless, Dugan bent over and cautiously went through.

**Interlude**

Joel fell flat on his face. He groaned a little, and tried to get up, only for Nichole to slam her foot on his back, slamming his face into the pavement again. She stared angrily at Derrick and softly said, "Next."

"Crazy bitch…" said Derrick. "You think you're Red Sonya or something?" Then he smirked wickedly. "Not a bad idea, come to think of it, why don't I help ya out and give ya a bikini?"

The switchblade he had been palming flicked out, and Nichole made a rush for him...

**End of Interlude**

"This is the model I'm most proud of," said the gnome. He tapped one of the large chests in front of him with the end of a stilt. "Take a look at the lock."

Like before, Nichole knelt in a squatting position and did so. It was quite an odd lock in that it had _four _keyholes. On the face of the padlock were the four basic playing card symbols - clubs, hearts, diamonds, and spades - colored blue, red, yellow, and green, respectively. Each symbol had a keyhole in the center. Again, the lock was made of brass.

"Here, _try _to open it," dared the gnome. He dropped a key in front of the Shadowchaser, who fumbled as he caught it. "That fits all four of the locks, but you have to unlock all four before it opens."

Nichole looked hard at the key, and then at the lock. "So, I'm guessing there's a specific order I have to… YEOW!" She held her hand, which had gotten quite a painful shock after trying to place the key in the spade keyhole.

"Guess that was _not _the right one to start with!" laughed the gnome.

"That's not funny, you little -" sputtered Nichole. Then she stopped as the gnome tossed her something else. "A glove?"

"Try wearing that before you make a second try," said the gnome. "Genuine behir hide."

Nichole gave him a suspicious look, but nonetheless pulled the glove on. She looked at the lock again and tried the key in the clubs keyhole. "Ook!" she grunted. She had gotten a small shock this time, much less of one than before, like from carpet static electricity.

"A burglar wouldn't have that glove, but if you were the chest's owner, you sure would. Seems clubs isn't the first one either."

Nichole tried a third time, placing the key in the diamond keyhole. This time, she got no shock, and the key turned with a click.

"Now try a second keyhole."

Nichole nodded, her curiosity piqued. She tried the heart keyhole, but for the third time, got a shock.

"Huh, the heart wasn't the second… Good thing you know the first, right?"

Nichole was beginning to catch on. She made another attempt, again unlocking the diamond keyhole, then moving to the clubs. Again, it clicked.

"You got it! Fifty-fifty chance now."

Nichole tried the heart keyhole again, and this time it clicked. With only one left, she unlocked the spades keyhole, and the padlock came undone.

"Lucky!" laughed the gnome. "Seriously, here's the best part, when the lock is closed again, the order of the keyholes resets so it's different each time! Even if a would-be thief _saw _you unlock it, he'd be ill-equipped when he tried it. Without the glove, most thieves give up after two tries."

"That's… kind of amazing," said Nichole.

_That IS amazing, _thought Francis. _How in the world did he -?_

"Now, granted, I wouldn't recommend this for a door you'd have to open in a hurry. But -"

Then he stopped. Both Nichole and Francis noticed his uncomfortable sweating. "Uh, Mr. Ghelve?" said Nichole. "What…"

Then a loud gunshot - one they recognized - echoed through the whole building.

**Interlude**

Derrick smashed against the door of another junked car, denting it with the impact.

"Huh, you always did have a hard head, Derrick," said Nichole.

"Okay, okay, I give up!" he pleaded. "Uncle!"

Nichole lowered the mace, slowly. Derrick's face was bruised, and he was bleeding from his nose and mouth, Of course, _her _face wasn't in much better shape, with a black eye and busted lip, but for now, she was in a much better position than he was. Still, she didn't trust him at all, and never knew him to be a quitter.

And true to her suspicion, he wasn't quitting now. Sven had specifically ordered him _not _to kill her, and he was, up to now, complying. Now, however, he just didn't care. As he looked up at her, he was slowly reaching for the Saturday night special tucked in his belt on his back.

"You know, Nichole," he said coughing. "Never saw this side of you, but… You kinda remind me of your brother." He spit out a wad of blood and saliva, and Nichole's grip on her weapon tensed. "You kinda remind me how I didn't like him…"

Nichole noticed what he was doing. She could have easily clubbed him over the head _hard _from where she was standing, and was about to do so…

...then there was a sound like a fist striking a punching bag, and Derrick's expression turned confused and dizzy. Then he collapsed and was out cold.

Nichole barely even noticed. Right now, all her attention had shifted from Derrick to the man behind him.

"M… Mr. Sinclair…" she stammered.

The tall, muscular, black man seemed very, very out of place. He wore a black suit and tie, sunglasses, and had a neatly trimmed hair and a goatee. And a pendant on a necklace with the same cross symbol as the one Nichole wore.

He lowered the sunglasses and looked down at Nichole with eyes that would down on anyone, and said, "I told you, call me Donny."

**End of Interlude**

Five minutes ago.

Dugan didn't know whether this room was a workshop or a kitchen. One side of the cramped room had a cluttered and ill-kept workbench, while the other had a far more orderly stove and small refrigerator. He opened the latter, noticing quite a few milk bottles that were half-full and just as many half-eaten sandwiches in bags.

He opened the door to a small pantry. The usual assortments of dry food were on the shelves, along with a lot of canned goods, including, he noticed, dog food. He picked up one of them.

_Something is _very _wrong here, _he thought. _Where…_

Then he noticed it. The light was starting to dim as the temperature in the room became colder.

_NOT this time! _

He spun around and fired his weapon at the two creepers…

In the storeroom above, Francis and Nichole were alerted by the shot, their one warning regarding a second ambush targeting them. Nichole cried out in surprise as a dark form hurtled down from above. Francis had assumed it was going for her and had little time to react before he felt a solid blow to his face that knocked him sprawling roughly to the floor. The attacker sprang quickly to its feet before Nichole, who gasped at the sight of it.

The light that filtered into the room through the narrow windows wasn't enough to clearly distinguish the newcomer. It was a man-sized humanoid figure, apparently naked save for a crudely made bandoleer that supported several sharp knives and a scabbard for the machete that it carried at the ready. It was strange enough that it appeared to lack gender, without any obvious sex organs. But its flesh—its body was a drab grey color that seemed to ripple with dark striations _within_ the skin, causing it to blend unnaturally with its surroundings. Its face was a stunted, ugly visage with no eyes and only small slits indicating a nose. Its mouth had a fiendish grin.

_That _the Shadowchaser remembered from the previous night. This was one of the "tall creatures" they had confronted, which had threatened Jasper. And now it was clear just what it was.

"Skulk," growled Nichole.

Skulks were monsters in every sense of the word, cruel, sadistic beings who, for unknown reasons, hated humans with a passion. Every waking thought they had was corrupted by their desire to see humans suffer and die. Now, the encounter the previous night at least made sense. The ones who had met with Jasper at least pretended to be civil, seeing as he was a fellow Shadowkind; this one had come without the intention to use any civility at all.

Nichole went for her own weapon, but the creature swung with its machete with incredible speed, smashing the hilt across her face. Blood exploded from her nose and she crumpled unconscious to the floor, on her face.

"Nichole!" yelled Francis, drawing his weapon from his belt as he tried to get up from where he had fallen. His jacket caught on one of the nearby chests, however, and he stumbled, landing awkwardly on his hip.

The skulk looked at him with an expression that could only be described as unmitigated hatred and hefted the business end of its weapon as it stepped toward him. But then it turned as the curtain flew open, revealing a former Marine with a blunderbuss and a pair of cloaks that had previously been worn by _two _dark creepers.

"Scuse me," he said, holding them aloft, "were these, perchance, friends of yours?"

The skulk tried to dodge out of the way as Dugan fired, _this_ time on the maximum setting. It moved swiftly and nimbly, but not nimbly enough as Dugan flipped the weapon around and swung the weapon's iron muzzle in a wide arc that landed solidly in the center of the creature's chest. The skulk was propelled roughly to the side, falling face-first into the stack of crates with enough impact to break at least two of them into splinters. The creature tried to push itself up, for a second or two, its eyeless face staring at them, but then slunk inevitably to the cold floor, not to rise again.

"Ugh, what hit me?" groaned Francis. Dugan didn't answer right away, as he was scanning the ceiling for any other attackers, but it seemed the skulk hadn't brought any other help - or any others it brought had fled.

"NICHOLE!"

Dugan turned around at the shout from Francis, and what he meant. Ghelve - whom they had forgotten about - had somehow discarded the stilts and was now holding the barely-conscious Nichole as a human shield. His free hand was holding a knife against her throat, though they could see the weapon trembling in his hand.

"Stay back!" Ghelve cried. "I don't want to hurt her, but I will if you come any closer!"

**Interlude**

Derrick lay face-down on the dirty floor, knocked out via a Flying Fistcast by none other than the man behind him, Donovan Sinclair. The founder and spiritual leader of St. Cuthbert's House. His detractors called him an extremist at best and cult leader at worst; admirers saw him as a groundbreaking visionary.

To actual members of the House, he was a leader. And often a friend. He had no title and no need for formalities; he was just a guy named Donny.

That didn't mean he wasn't someone to be taken lightly. Nichole had only actually spoken to him twice before, three times if one counts the speech he made when she and several other novices were formally inducted. Nichole was awestruck all three times; the air of authority this man exuded would only be equaled when she met Jalal.

Unfortunately, Nichole right now couldn't help but feel a little annoyed.

"You didn't have to do that!" she shouted. "I saw the gun!"

"I know," replied Donny. He carefully took the cheap handgun from Derrick, opening the chamber and dumping out the bullets. "I figured you wouldn't attack him if he was unconscious."

"You mean… you," said Nichole.

"Ms. Belvins, in my eyes, the most dangerous person here wasn't them."

He turned around, and started to leave, but Nichole wasn't finished. "Oh, come on, don't give me the tired old 'you're just as bad as them' routine? Donny, my brother is -"

"I'm fully aware of what happened to your brother, Nichole, seeing as _my _attorney is volunteering his time trying to convince the DA to reopen his case." He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. "Both he and the DA would not be amused to learn that his sister is acting as a vigilante. One who lures victims into an ambush by promising 'favors'."

"Have you been watching me all day?" she demanded. Then she slumped to the floor, crying a little. She looked at the cross around her neck. "I thought it was all about justice."

"Nichole, there is a fine line where retribution becomes retaliation. Did you truly come here for Justice, or for _Revenge?"_

**End of Interlude**

There was no longer any doubt. The reason the kidnappers had gotten past the locks with such ease was because the locksmith who built the locks had provided them with a master key. But why?

"Drop your weapons!" the gnome commanded. "And keep your distance!"

Dugan didn't seem ready to comply. His hands gripped his enchanted rifle even tighter.

"I swear," said Francis, "if you hard even one hair on her head."

Dugan lifted his left hand, signaling his angry college to stay back - for now. This was a _very _delicate situation that would _never _lead to the death of only _one _person. _Two _deaths, however, were _very_ likely.

"Let her go, Keygan," he said as sternly as he could without showing outright anger. "You kill her, and what then?"

Nichole groaned a little, slowly coming too.

"Keygan, trust me," said Dugan. "This isn't what you want. Whatever you've done can be rectified, if you just stop now. Do you have any idea what's at stake?"

"I don't care!" snapped the gnome. He shook his head. "Look, just go, get out of here. I'll let her go if you leave, and don't come back!"

"We can't do that, Keygan," Francis said.

Nichole was wide awake now, and it didn't take her long to realize what was happening. She swallowed hard. Time for a gamble.

"Keygan," she said, weakly. "Would you care if we told you that someone is using a master key you gave them to kidnap children?"

Keygan's hand shivered.

"Children, Keygan, from the orphanage. Four innocents. And they could do it again."

The gnome let out a sob, and staggered. "I'm... I'm so sorry," he said, dropping the dagger and letting Nichole go, falling to his knees and sobbing into his hands. Francis was there in an instant to catch Nichole, while Dugan kept his weapon fixated on the gnome. Not that it was truly needed. All the fight had gone out of Keygan Ghelve, and he sagged to the floor, a broken man.

"I assume you have a lot to tell us, Mr. Ghelve," said Dugan.

**Interlude**

It was a day after the confrontation with Derrick and Joel.

Nichole's shift had ended an hour ago, and now she was at St. Cuthbert's House itself, pounding her fists into a punching bag. The back rooms weren't exactly as fancy as the local gym - most of the equipment was donated - but you didn't need the best when all you wanted was to slug something.

Again, and again, she grunted as she slugged the heavy bag, trying hard to imagine Sven's face on the leather bag. Finally, she stopped, and turned to the towel and bottled water on the bench nearby.

"You see, there are more acceptable ways to vent frustration."

Nichole was startled by Donny's voice. He was casually leaning against the side of the doorway and had been watching for some time. "Gee, Donny," she answered, "didn't know the officers in this place mingled with the enlisted men."

He smirked. "I always try to make time for everyone in the House. Especially those close to a nervous breakdown."

Nichole let out a long sigh and sat down. She could deny it, but then he'd never believe her, and she _did _need someone to talk to.

"I'm just confused by it all. All about 'retribution' and 'retaliation'. I mean, all the stuff about Hammurabi -"

Donny interrupted there. "True, Nichole, Hammurabi claimed 'an eye for an eye', but in truth, his Code was meant to _prevent _unjust punishment."

"Say what?"

"His reasoning was, if a criminal assaults a man and gouges out his eye, the punishment would be limited to the loss of _one _eye. Taking both would cross the line, giving the criminal _more _of a punishment than he had inflicted upon his victim.

"Before Hammurabi, when one man wronged another - whether it was murdering his brother, raping his daughter, stealing his cattle, or even insulting him in public - the wronged man would often gather his entire clan and kill the offender, then slaughter his entire family and burn down every property he had, all while claiming it just retribution. Hammurabi's Code made such actions unjust by limiting retribution to taking no more from the perpetrator than what was taken from the victim.

"And just as his system was deemed more civilized than what came before, societies after him would find better ways, until his ideas were no longer needed."

Nichole didn't reply. She held her chest and felt her heart pound. Those bastards had framed Marc, taken him from his family, but he wasn't _dead. _There was still a chance, however slim, this injustice would be corrected. A chance she'd see him again.

But as hard as it was to take in, Donnie's explanation made her see it from another angle. Derrick and Joel were creeps, but did they have any family? If Donny had stopped her, she may have had taken_ their_ lives… Taken them from any loved ones they had… _forever._

This sudden revelation was interrupted as he spoke again, seemingly changing the subject: "Nichole, I have a question for you."

"Uh…"

"Consider this," began Donny. "When you finally become an official Hand of St. Cuthbert, suppose your immediate superior gives you this task: find a succubus who has been summoned by a wizard, and slay the demon."

Nichole nodded, so he went on. "But when you corner the demon and are about to do so, the wizard appears and pleads for you to show mercy to his wife. When you hesitate, he comforts the demon, who is now sobbing into her beloved's shoulder.

"What action do you take?"

**End of Interlude**

The start of Keygan Ghelve's story, as he started to relate it to the three Shadowchasers, went back much longer than they had assumed.

Deep within the volcano, far under the city of Cauldron, lay various networks of tunnels and caverns. Many of these were natural, formed by ancient seismic action while the volcano was still active, while others had been expanded and altered by residents who came after. One such group were the gnomes of Jzadirune.

Jzadirune had been a thriving underground community of gnomes who had prospered in the early days of Cauldron. Created by practitioners of the arcane mysteries, it had become known for a time for its magical creations, including rings and other miscellaneous items of great power. Many of the schematics for Keygan's own locks had come from there. But Keygan told them that about four generations ago, the community had experienced a very sudden and dramatic decline. The gnome's information was vague on the details, but apparently a sickness of magical origin had emerged within the community, claiming many of its members. "They called it the Vanishing," he explained. "It was like they turned into ghosts, and simply _faded _from existence. Poof! Gone without a trace." The survivors had gathered their possessions and left Jzadirune behind for some distant and unremembered destination.

By now most Cauldronites had forgotten that the gnome city had even existed, but the Ghelve family had maintained one link to this history. Under his shop lay a hidden passageway accessed by a secret door, the sole remaining access from the surface to the gnomish enclave. Keygan had all but forgotten about it—he certainly wasn't going to go exploring there—when one day about six months ago, his life had changed.

He had dealt with the members of the Last Laugh before and had sold them some of the baser locks. A few times they had _asked _if he was able to make a master key but never actually requested it. Not that he would have done so merely by request.

Then it happened. He now reflected upon the irony that, of all the locks he had made, he'd never thought of making one for the secret door. They came through it in the middle of the night, catching him by surprise, subduing him before he could defend himself. To compel his obedience, they'd taken captive his closest friend and companion, Starbrow, a Corgi that was also his familiar.

"So, you _are _a wizard?" asked Dugan.

"Illusionist, technically, but yeah. You really think I could build these things myself if I wasn't?"

He continued. Through the bond that existed between wizard and familiar, he could sense Starbrow's distress, alone and hungry in a dark place somewhere below.

The creatures came in two varieties; "tall ones"—skulks, like the one they'd killed, and "short ones", the dark creepers. There had been no leader that Ghelve had seen, indicating that whoever was coordinating the kidnappings might possibly have remained below the city, in the abandoned gnome enclave, or perhaps deeper. Ghelve acknowledged that he really didn't know what else lay below the city, but it was possible that other occupied caverns lay deeper, or perhaps even an access to that deepest of caves, the Underdark.

"So, they blackmailed you into making a master key?"

"They told me they only wanted to rob the houses of some folks who tended to flaunt what they had. Think they did just that for the first few months, burglaries and the like."

"And now they've gotten bolder and expanded," said Nichole. She shook her head. "Swell…"

**Interlude**

It seemed almost a paradox to Nichole.

The dogma of St. Cuthbert meant swearing an oath to obey the commands of all legitimate authority. In the scenario, she'd have been given an order to find and slay a succubus, a type of demon almost universally regarded as a demonic tempter or mortals. (It would be about a year before she'd learn about Tsuki Nyte, or anyone in Backwater.) But the same oath also required defending the bond of pure love between any couple who expressed it. The scenario strongly implied that this succubus had genuine feelings for a mortal man, feelings that were returned.

No matter what choice she took, striking the demon down or letting her go, she'd violate her oath.

And because Donnie had given no information about any evil deeds the succubus in the scenario had done, she -

_Wait… _thought Nichole. _Maybe that's the point._

She looked up and finally said, "The best action would be to go slightly up the chain of command, find someone above my _immediate _superior, and find the reason for this order, because a just leader in the House would _never _knowingly give a subordinate such a task!"

Donny nodded, then offered Nichole his hand. "You're learning fast," he said.

**End of Interlude**

The gnome was able to give them one final guide: an ancient parchment that contained a finely traced map of the gnome enclave. This useful document Dugan confiscated, examining it for several minutes before folding it carefully and placing it in his pocket.

An hour after they had entered the shop, the three Shadowchasers companions gathered at the curtain that concealed the secret door. The dead skulk was close to it, its body having melted slightly into a lump of rubbery residue. Dugan watched Ghelve closely, the gnome fidgeting as his hands and feet bound securely by a length of rope that Nichole had found in one of the rooms upstairs. The room was dim, as they'd closed the drapes in the display window. Ghelve's Locks was, for the moment, closed for business.

Francis looked nervous as he came into the room again. "What took you so long?" asked Dugan.

"I went to that guy selling sausage, but he said he couldn't leave the cart. Eventually he got a customer who said he would deliver the message to Jenya, but I'm pretty sure he's going to go spend the twenty Sovereigns I gave him first."

Nichole nodded, the smell of Francis' breath affirming he had indeed done as he said and turned back to Ghelve. "Better gag him, too," she suggested, putting her own suggestion into effect by stuffing a kerchief into his mouth even as the locksmith opened it to protest. Working quickly, she wrapped a length of cord around his head, securing the makeshift gag.

"Really sorry about this," she told him.

"I still say this is all a dumb idea," Francis said. "We should contact the proper authorities... at least wait until Jenya gets here."

"Weren't you the one who said at breakfast that 'playing it safe' was for someone in another line of work?" asked Nichole.

"Oh come on, Nichole! I have limits here. We don't know how many there are, there's just the three of us! Didn't Jalal say something about not going on spelunking excursions into ruined cities unless you absolutely had to?"

"Francis, time is of the essence," said Dugan. "Even if that kid throws the note away, Jenya knows where we are, and she'll investigate eventually. But we can't afford to delay. Remember the last line in Greg's divination: _Half a dwarf binds them, but not for long_. We have to act quickly, that skulk's friends are going to be suspicious when he doesn't come back."

Francis persisted, saying, "That's something else we never discussed. What if this 'half a dwarf' is a duergar general with a whole platoon under him, or a cabal of derro warlocks?"

Nichole sent him a cold look. "Well then, if the mighty berserker warrior truly wants to go, then maybe he should go. Personally, I'm not going to be scared away by those things." She indicated lump that was the dead skulk, then sniffled a little and wiped her nose, as if to indicate _she _had taken the brunt of its attack. "And last time I doubt a cabal of derro warlocks would be so... covert."

"I'm not scared," he said defiantly, but then he shook his head. "All right, maybe I am, but it's also common sense! At least let's rouse the Town Guard! Uh, they have that here, right?"

Keygan muttered "Uh-huh," through the gag while nodding, but then also shook his head.

Having tested the bonds one last time Nichole stood up, talking to Francis in a softer tone. "We're all afraid, Francis; this is deadly serious stuff, not something we're doing on a whim. But we must assume that whoever is holding the children is going to be aware that this part of his operation has been discovered, if he hasn't already. When that skulk doesn't report back, whoever sent him is going to know something is wrong, and if we wait, or head down there with a large armed force, we may lose any element of surprise. And besides," she flicked her wrist, and the collapsible staff that Greg had used back in the alley lengthened in her hand. "Greg gave me this for good luck."

The curtain was cast aside, and she shone the light from it down, viewing the long, long stairway going down, down into.

_Oh yeah, good luck, _thought Keygan, _you're gonna need it. _

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_AND…. That may be as good a place as ever to pause for now. _

_For anyone here who craves more "darker and grittier" Shadowchasers action, I would recommend catching the new chapter of "Shadowchasers: Something Borrowed" by Mei1105. And keep your eyes on my Account Page for more info on this fic _AND _my upcoming anthology, "Untold Tales of the Shadowchasers"! (Working title, of course.)_

_Cheers._

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_And now for another dose of one of those ideas I had but never cared to fully follow through with (lol) something I like to call…_

**Shadowchaser Files:**

**Artifacts: The Mirror of Prester John**

_What follows if a report given to me by Dr. Bartholomew Simms, after a week of examination of a prisoner in the medium level security wing of the prison underneath Shadowchasers Headquarters. _

Name Kumbhakarna Wjuntu. Species: Rakshasa. Age: 280 (appears to be in late 50s to most Mundanes). Place of birth: Bhopal, India.

When I first reviewed Mr. Wjuntu's case, it seemed an odd and tragic story. He had been born into a rich and respected family and had been a law-abiding citizen all his life. He had a decent and high-paying job at a pharmaceutical firm headquartered in Mumbai. His coworkers described him as egotistical and arrogant, but then, these are common traits of a rakshasa.

Then it seems, he simply snapped. Nobody ever knew him to have any issues with Sanjay Madi, a coworker he had known less than a year, but for unfathomable reasons, he broke into Mr. Madi's home in the dead of night, murdering him, his wife, and both sons. Immediately after, he turned himself in (using his victims' phone to call the Shadowchasers), later pleading guilty to multiple counts of murder.

If only it ended there.

Less than a week into his sentence, Wjuntu seemed to develop an aversion to… well, anyone. Anyone who so much as spoke to him, be it correction officers, other prisoners, or even his own lawyer would make him cower in fear and plead for mercy. Eventually he was unwilling to even eat and tried to avoid sleeping, fearing some enemy only he could see was plotting his demise.

I had little luck speaking to him at first, until sedatives could be used to calm him. Finally, he told me that the enemy he spoke of was Madi. As in, the man he murdered.

Now, there is virtually no chance Madi could have survived. He was Mundane, ignorant of Shadowkind, and even if he wasn't, the coroner's report shows no indication of it. I also find it hard to believe someone like Madi could ever pose a threat to a rakshasa, a Shadow stronger, smarter, and with more influence and connections to most Mundanes.

When the sedatives started to wane, Wjuntu started babbling incoherently, and a word I recognized that came up many times in his ranting was "mirror". After several sessions, the two words "Prester John" came up too. After due research, both of mythology textbooks and monetary transactions he made in the past year, I believe Prester John's Mirror has resurfaced, and is the cause of his madness, which makes his condition even more dire.

**Origins**

The legend of Prester John is one that tends to be forgotten in modern times, for much the same reason music styles as Disco has - even legends and myths can become "passing fads". I will summarize here.

The first stories of Prester John date back to the 12th Century, and his name is likely a contraction of "Presbyter", a term for "church elder". Supposedly he was a Christian emperor, who was both ruler and spiritual leader of a utopian empire founded upon Biblical teachings.

Stories claim that Prester John's empire had no crime, misers, liars, or conflicts of any sort. Sins were considered childish behaviors, and if sinners became a problem, they could be quickly identified (more on that in a minute) and "treated", much like one would treat a cold. No less than 72 lesser kingdoms paid tribute to Prester John, his personal staff composed of seven kings, sixty dukes, and 365 counts. Every one of his servants down to his chefs and valets, were trusted spiritual leaders themselves, each with a congregation rivaling the size of entire towns. Equally impressive was his army, perfectly formed into 13 divisions, each with 10,000 knights and 100,000 infantries. When this great army marched, each division followed a wagon holding a golden, diamond-encrusted cross aloft, and each wagon followed Emperor Prester John himself, leading them to a victory for True Faith.

But where was this great empire? Theories ranged from China to India to Ethiopia. Some even theorized that Prester John was the father of Mongol ruler Genghis Khan (and interesting theory, to say the least) .

**True Origins**

Now, when one puts two and two together, the history of Europe makes it clear why anyone believed this to be more than a fairy tale: wishful thinking.

Ask any history teacher, and he'll tell you that for many rulers of Europe in the 12th Century, a high-priority was the Crusades, a series of holy wars initiated, supported and sometimes directed by the Catholic Church itself, many with the ultimate goal of "liberating" the Holy Land. Combined with such rulers having dreams of extending their own empires around the world, they realized an alliance with Prester John would make their dreams a reality. Thus, as stories of El Dorado's cities of gold tempted explorers who sought material wealth, Prester John tempted those hungry for more power.

Still, as the centuries passed and advances in exploration turned gave civilization more knowledge of the world, the fabled ruler and his empire were never found, and interest in finding him ceased. Still, while most categorize Prester John's empire with mythical places like Atlantis and Cockaigne, but as we all know, Atlantis was indeed real, and not the nicest of places.

And indeed, if there was, indeed, a Prester John, he may not have been as benevolent a ruler as the stories claim, which is where the Mirror comes in.

Most would agree that the sheer size of Prester John's Empire would make its ruler's job difficult. The legends did suggest Prester John had a few magical items to aid him, including his Mirror. Supposedly, he could use this mirror as a scrying device to view or communicate with _any _of his subjects in two-way communication.

Now, on the surface, this device would be very useful for communicating with the commanders of a large army, although it does throw cold water on the aforementioned idea that he commanded them personally. It also seems to be the way sinners were, "identified" and "treated". One can imagine a youngster deciding to filch apples from a grocer, only to be caught and given a scolding by the king himself, later being rightfully paranoid of what might happen should he do it again. Undoubtedly, the idea of a "Big Brother" type of ruler predated Orwell by many centuries.

Up to now, all of this has been speculation. I should point out that regardless of whether Prester John existed or not, the Mirror obviously does. Also, some of my sources have named historical figures who supposedly owned mirrors that fit this description, including Emperor Caligula of Rome (hinting that the Mirror is far older than its current name), Charles VI of France, Zhang Xianzhong of China, and Pol Pot of Ethiopia. Note the obvious common trend among these figures is a questionable mental state; if Prester John did indeed own this device, it seems only he was able to use it without fail, possibly due to, at the risk of getting ahead of myself, an additional item he may have actually crafted called Prester John's Collar.

**Description: **The Mirror is 20 feet wide and 25 feet tall. At first, this seems by no means portable, but we'll get to the how and why in a minute. It has a dark and polished surface, and a frame made of platinum and mithril, wrought into the likenesses of planar beings. While it is barely six inches thick and stands upright - often without any physical support - it cannot be knocked over by simple jarring. If enough force - say, an earthquake - were to make it topple, it would not so much as crack. It _is _an artifact, after all. The Mirror has Overwhelming auras of Divination and Law. It doesn't seem to be an evil thing, but then, the same could be said of the Machine of Lum the Mad, another device with a habit of driving its owners insane.

**Powers: **Now, as would be expected, the Mirror is useful as a scrying device, much like a crystal ball to view anyone or any place the user is aware of, and without the mental strain that comes with using such a device. This naturally can also aid a wizard or other spellcaster in using other spells involving travel and distances (aka, "apportations") like teleportation. However, the Mirror has other abilities. It lets a wizard of enough skill speak to someone viewed in the Mirror, via a special type of extrasensory perception (or "ESP").

What truly sets the Mirror apart from other scrying devices is its darker power. A user can also conjure the image of _any _individual he knows of, and _then _force that individual to truthfully answer three questions. The individual remembers this interrogation vaguely, as if it were a dream or hallucination.

I mentioned earlier something called Prester John's Collar, a device that comes up now and then in stories about the Mirror. It seems to be a platinum and mithril choker shaped like a snake. Wearing it seems to grant additional powers, possibly the ability to shrink the Mirror itself to portable size, and possibly avoid the Mirror's side effect. Clearly, neither Mr. Wjuntu nor those other historic figures I mentioned had access to it. However, I should state a warning that the Collar may simply make a user _resistant _to the Mirror's curse and _not _immune to it.

The darkest power of the device is only hinted at, and likely requires the Collar. Some stories relate that a user can call forth a type of divine retribution on a location he is viewing. This, of course, means raining death on that unfortunate location with hurricanes, earthquakes, and even tsunamis. Indeed, it is possibly for the best that individuals holding the Mirror _and _Collar are rare; I shudder at what dictators like Pol Pot might have done with such power. Indeed, some believe that the curse of the device is _true _divine retribution, a punishment for a mortal using power he has no right to harness.

It seems that if the Mirror is used too often to view or hinder one specific individual (or one specific _group _of people), there is a chance the user is inflicted with a form of paranoia, which quickly degenerates into madness. A user struck by this curse starts to believe that the person (or people) is plotting his demise, or "out to get him," so to speak. This paranoia becomes so strong that it completely consumes every waking moment of the user's life and haunts his nightmares. Every person he encounters is assumed to be an "agent" of this enemy. Hunting down and slaying this imagined nemesis becomes the user's only goal, and even if that goal is met, the cursed victim never _believes _he has succeeded, always certain the nemesis has somehow survived and is still stalking him.

Many cases where this Mirror has come up end with the cursed victim taking his own life, believing the nemesis has possessed his body and is attempting to claim his soul. I fear Mr. Wjuntu is mere days away from this fate unless some treatment is applied.

**Story Ideas: **Prester John's Mirror is a device that is perfect for a paranoid villain with good intentions using questionable methods. In a setting where the card game is prevalent, the device could be used much like Camula did via her bats, spying on potential foes in order to develop counterstrategies. In this case, however, such a villain would degenerate in sanity, much like Saiou did, eventually falling into bestial madness.

Some users of this device may wish to delve into the assumed history of the device, developing a modern obsession with the fabled Emperor Prester John. After all, if Atlantis existed and had magic that is still usable, who's to say it could be true with other mythical lands. Villains like this could well be those unpleasant types who claim (out of delusion, hypocrisy, or blatant greed) to be honorable followers - or leaders - of the church, using this affiliation as a veil to hide sinister goals.

Inspiration for such villains can be found in _X-Men _comics (Reverend William Stryker _and _Reverend Craig) _The Purge: Election Year _(Minister Edwidge Owens) and Claude Frollo from Disney's _The Hunchback of Notre Dame._


	5. Nothing to Fear

_Hello folks!_

_It's been a long February, and I've had a lot occupying my time (such as the Planescape: Torment re-release I got for Christmas, Lol) but wait no longer, Quality of Life continues!_

_I was actually debating whether or not to make this one even longer, but I felt it was getting long enough as it was. Fortunately, I should have the next chapter up much sooner._

_Until then, enjoy._

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**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

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**Part Five**

**Nothing to Fear**

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Jzadirune.

Once a lively place, even buried deep within the earth under Cauldron's slumbering volcano, filled with the sounds of laughing, joking, and whistling, along with the smells of pipe tobacco and fresh-baked pastry. Gnomish enclaves always had a cheery atmosphere.

Then came the curse - or disease, hard to tell - called the Vanishing.

Presumed to be the result of a failed magical experiment, it crept upon the gnomes of Jzadirune, unseen and unheard like a shadowy ghost. Before they realized what was happening, almost half of the enclave's residents had contracted the magical plague, their physical bodies literally fading, becoming translucent, then transparent, then disappearing into nothing, leaving no bodies or even a drop of blood to show they were there at all. With no time to diagnose the condition nor research a cure, Jzadirune was evacuated, abandoned… forgotten.

Now the enclave was dark and silent... but no longer uninhabited...

Dugan led the way down the stairs, his blunderbuss pointed forward. Francis came behind him, and Nichole after Francis, using Greg's staff to illuminate their way, its soft light casting an ominous glow that shed long shadows ahead as they negotiated the stairs that seemed to twist ever deeper into the earth.

Occasionally Francis rolled up one of his sleeves to check on the tattoos on his arms. At the moment, the bright maiden and the dark maiden each claimed half of the moon, but a half-hour from now, the bright maiden would claim it all, and he'd be able to use his _berserk, _a mystical battle rage where he could - hopefully - smash through a hundred of those creepers and skulks. The sorceress who gave him the tattoos only did so because she thought he could control it. He often prayed her judgment was sound.

Finally, the stairs came to an end, depositing them in a square chamber of worked stone perhaps forty feet to each side. A corridor exited the chamber on the far wall opposite where they had entered, and to their left stood two unusual doors, round wooden portals set into thick thresholds of dressed stone. One of the doors was partly open, rolled aside enough so that they could see that the outer edge of the portal resembled the notched teeth of a gear. Light shone from that opening, a golden shaft that spilled out in a long angle across the room's floor.

"Nichole, give me some light here." As Nichole lifted the staff, Dugan unfolded the slip of paper on which Greg had written the riddle he had received from the Star of Justice.

"_Beware the doors with teeth."_

"There we go," he said. "Those doors are gears and gears have teeth. We're on the right track."

They walked about ten steps, but then Dugan motioned for them to stop. "Do you hear that?"

As the echoes of the sound of their footsteps faded, they all _could_ hear it, a sound of whispers, shuffling, and faint laughter. It was like seeing something out of the corner of your eye but _hearing _it instead of seeing it. The noises were merry, quite a contrast to the dark and heavy atmosphere that the abandoned hold seemed to hold for the three Shadowchasers. The sounds persisted, either unknowing of their intrusion or uncaring.

"I've heard of this," said Dugan. "Figments. Leftover residual illusion magic."

"What are those?" asked Francis. Nichole moved the light, illuminating the wall he indicated. The giggling seemed to get slightly louder.

"Masks," replied Dugan. "Copper, I think. Gnomish charms that are supposed to scare evil spirits away. Same idea as horseshoes. We'd best get a move on."

"Be careful, guys," said Nichole, "something's not right here."

Dugan simply nodded as he approached the partially opened door. It appeared that the round doors were designed to roll into grooves within the walls, to the side. A heavy piece of stone had been wedged into this door's gears, holding it open. There was writing on the door, a single rune etched in bold lines into the reinforced wooden beams of the portal.

"That's an 'A' in the gnomish alphabet," Dugan told them. "And there's a 'Z' on that one," he added, indicating the adjacent doorway that was fully closed.

He peered into the lit space beyond the door. A nondescript chamber lay beyond; the light originated from a shining object in the center of the floor. A few squat objects that were probably crates were scattered haphazardly along the walls of the room.

"Francis, give me a hand here." The door wasn't all-too large, being built for gnomes, and the stone only held it half open, so it was clear they'd have to open it completely.

"No, problem," said Francis, and he gave the door an exploratory heave. The door rolled easily enough within its mechanism, and as Nichole held the light, Dugan reached in to relocate the stone to hold it more fully open. Francis nodded to them and stepped forward into the room beyond the door.

"No problem!" he exclaimed.

And right after, cried out in surprise as the room was plunged into darkness and two even darker forms lunged out from the shadows flanking the portal, and thrust at him with slender knives.

**Interlude**

Three months after the confrontation in the vacant lot, and one month after Christmas.

Like most charity groups, St. Cuthbert's house ran an annual toy drive. A box was set up for the purpose inside the entrance next to a small Christmas tree, with a short, printed message that they hoped would attract a Good Samaritan to donate toys.

But it was possible for some to be _too _generous.

Three days before Christmas, when both the soup kitchen and clinic were at the slowest time of the day, someone had snuck in and left an item on _every _child's current wish list, the PlayStation Ω-O. Both stores and online shops were having a terrible time keeping it in stock; the newest and most advanced system to date, this system came with a hard drive holding its own library of game titles, which encompassed the entire history of PlayStation. For an hour or so, the staff wondered if Santa Claus himself had chanced to stop by.

But after getting over the shock, they realized this gave them a rather pressing problem. Something so expensive couldn't be gifted to one family, not without showing blatant favoritism. This was, in fact, one of many times Donnie considered doing away with gift drives and only accepting cash donations; while it seemed impersonal, it was more efficient.

Eventually, the center set it up in their common room, where any client or volunteer could sign up to use it - under supervision. Naturally, this led to the common room needing chaperones to keep younger clients from fighting over it, but eventually, after a few isolated incidents, they managed to regulate its use. And a _lot _of kids were happy to have it.

Nichole sure was. She rarely found ten minutes or so where the system was free, but today was one of those times, a time where she could at least take out her frustration by playing _Doom Eternal. _

Gregory came into the room, shaking his head a little as he looked at the screen where the space marine guided by Nichole's controller was using a chain gun to blast demons into a bloody, pulpy mess. "That is _not_ right," he sighed.

"Who asked you?" she snapped.

"Nichole, seriously, switch to the shotgun, you want to save the chain gun for the Boss. Using it on the regular mobs will use the ammo too fast. Oh, and speaking of which, check that stack of crates to the right, I think there's a cache there."

Nichole looked at him strangely. "Was kinda hoping you were going to lecture me about playing too much," she sighed.

"I'll leave that to your mother, but I can't help but think you're playing these games just to blow off steam."

"You think I'm pretending these guys are Sven?" she asked, as the space marine resumed shooting. "Nah… these cyber demons are _way _too handsome." She turned to look at him, then beamed. "I made you smile!" she laughed.

"Uh, yes," he replied. "Look, Nichole, if you _really _want a more productive hobby, there is this Christmas gift I forgot to give you. I left it in your locker."

Nichole stopped. "What did -"

"Cacodemon at ten o'clock."

Nichole quickly picked up the controller, and barely saved the space marine from becoming lunch, even as Gregory smirked and left the room. Still, ten minutes later she gladly relinquished the controls to Rosa in order to make a rush for the exercise room - where her locker was.

**End of Interlude**

"Blasted little sneaks!" Francis roared at the pair of enemies who had flanked him. He had been caught off guard but was fortunate in that the first thrust glanced off a thick part of his leather jacket. Even as he turned in that direction, though, the second attacker slipped its rapier into a far thinner part of his clothing, piercing and the flesh underneath. Francis grunted and jerked aside, and his foe's blade came away with its tip sheathed in bright red.

He could feel the rage rising inside him. Another minute or two more…

Nichole quickly spoke a command word, and the light on the staff shot up to full power, illuminating both rooms. The ambushers—revealed as dark creepers - shrieked and broke off their assault. Even as Francis made a broad swing with his sword, the two creepers darted away, each toward one of two round tunnels that apparently had been bored through the walls of the room. The creatures were fast, certainly faster than the three humans, and they had nearly reached the two exits by the time he had drawn it.

Dugan, however, was quicker to respond, and he leaned around Francis enough to get a clear bead on one of the creatures. The magical rifle fired, and like before, the creeper exploded into a burst of light.

_What the devil _are _these things? _he thought. He turned to where the other creeper had run, but it had already vanished through the second tunnel.

He quickly pumped the fore end of the gun and moved into the room, looking for signs of any more of the creatures but not finding any. He looked at the small pile of ashes and burned clothes that had been the creeper.

He shook his head, then took his own light source - a conventional flashlight for him - from his belt. He clicked it on and started scanning the tunnel to make sure no other danger lurked from that direction. The two tunnels were rough-hewn and compact, each a little less than five feet in diameter. He pointed it at the center of the room and saw what had made the light that had lured them in; a now extinguished sunrod, a more old-fashioned wand-sized version of Greg's staff. He bent down to pick it up, but it crumbled into rusty pieces as his hand closed around it. _That's odd, _he thought.

Meanwhile, Nichole helped Francis up, all while muttering something under her breath while gesturing with her free hand. "Nichole, no, save that for when you need it," he said. "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding hotshot," she told him.

"It's just a scratch," he protested, "and it won't matter in a minute." He rolled up his sleeve, indicating the tattoo. "Save the healing magic for when we really need it." He grunted a little. "Just have to make sure we 'need it' before the hour is up. Speaking of which, one of them got away; it might have gone to get help."

"So which way?" asked Nichole. She had posed the question to Dugan who was now shining the light down the corridor the dead creeper had tried to run towards. "Careful," she added, there might be another ambush there too."

"I'd be certain of it." Dugan unfolded the map Ghelve had given him and shined the flashlight on it. To his disappointment, these two tunnels weren't on it, but it did give him a general idea of how to get to a spot that was. "There's a large room on this map that looks important, and I think _that _tunnel," indicating the one where the dead creeper had tried to flee to, "leads in the general direction."

"Think I'd have a better chance in a large room," said Francis. He eyed the other tunnel where the second creeper had escaped. "Let's just get going."

**Interlude**

Nichole found what Gregory had meant in her locker, a colorful box still covered with cellophane, with the big letters **Armies of Athena **and the Duel Monsters logo, positioned over four odd-looking female figures. She would later discover their names - Madolche Puddingcess, Amazoness Queen, Harpie Lady 1, and Athena herself - and that this was one of many boxed sets released about two years ago for the game, with some sort of connecting storyline.

This was her first look at Duel Monsters, and a turning point in her career.

She noticed that Greg had left a note too. She picked it up.

_Dearest Nichole,_

_I do hope you don't mind a hand-me-down gift. My sister gave this to me two Christmases ago, but I never truly got into this game, which I heard is popular. Supposedly there's a lot of math involved with it, and as you know, I'm not too good at math._

_Merry belated Christmas._

_Gregory_

Of course, Nichole clearly did _not _mind a hand-me-down gift. Often, she received gifts that had been handed down twice. Still, she was a little skeptical.

_Card games? _she thought. _How's that supposed to be "productive"? _She turned to the back of the box and read the text that stated the contents. _"Contains 'Sugar and Spice' booster pack x5, 'Hippolyta's Heroines' booster pack x5, 'Feathers and Fury' booster pack x5, 'Heaven Above' booster pack x5 and one Rare Ultrafoil collectable. Packs each contain 5 cards." Huh, that's a _lot_ of cards._

As she opened it, however, and saw the Rare Ultrafoil resting on the four stacks of Booster Packs, she quickly went from "interested" to "excited".

Amazoness Queen. Slouching on her throne, leaning on a huge sword while casually crossing her legs, the muscular battle worn monarch seemed to be looking Nichole in the eye sternly.

_This _was not a turning point for Nichole. It was a new beginning.

**End of Interlude**

Wary of another ambush, the Shadowchasers crept into the confines of the rough tunnel.

The tunnel was just under five feet in diameter, a perfect size for gnomes, but not the best for the three humans, forcing them to squat a bit. The corridor appeared to have been rough-hewn from the solid stone of the volcano, although it was hard to tell exactly how such a tunnel had been excavated. With that mystery added to the total tally of Jzadirune's strangeness, they pressed on.

After just a short distance the tunnel branched to the left and right. To the right the tunnel split again after about ten feet, with a side passage jutting left. Dugan checked the map again, then nodded towards it, leading them in that direction. Every few steps, Nichole made a wary glance backward, peering into the dark length of the tunnel for signs of pursuit.

"Ow!" grunted Francis, bumping his head on the ceiling for about the fourth time.

After moving about twenty feet or so, it seemed Dugan's calculations had been accurate, as the tunnel opened into a copious vaulted chamber, much larger and spacious than the cramped tunnel. There was light here coming from a series of flickering globes that hung in the air, floating idly back and forth. The place was the largest open space they'd yet encountered in the complex, easily a hundred feet in length from where they stood to the far wall, where a fountain of sorts could be seen. Twin rows of pillars stretched down the length of the chamber, flanking a central isle a good twenty feet across. Several more passages than the tunnel by which they'd arrived were visible along the side walls, and a few of the round gear-doors could be seen on either side.

The three Shadowchasers left the confines of the tunnel and cautiously moved forward into the room. Clearly this had been a gathering place of sorts, and the gnomes had put a great deal of effort into improvements. Faded murals covered the walls, and the thick pillars had been carved into the shapes of several gnomes standing on each other's shoulders, all the way to the ceiling high above.

"Lots of shadows," Nichole whispered, commented. "Lots of places to hide." The others nodded, noticing, as she had, that while the magical dancing flames provided enough light to illuminate the entire chamber, their flickers and movements would make that illumination very conducive to anyone trying to hide in them.

"Down there," she added. All the way down the long chamber was a fountain, or rather, what was left of one. Another of the oddly hewn tunnels was next to it.

As they passed one of the glowing globes, Francis reached up and touched it, grinning a little as his hand passed through the flickering light.

"Will you be careful?" Nichole hissed in warning.

"Oh, it's just another illusion," he said. "It's not like I haven't seen -"

"QUIET," ordered Dugan, lifting his hand in a way that obviously meant "Stop!"

"What is it?" Nichole whispered.

"I thought I heard something," he replied, scanning the darkness. "I think -" He scanned the area with the flashlight.

"I didn't hear it," said Francis. Of course, they _all_ heard the next sound, a few seconds later, the familiar twang of crossbows being fired.

**Interlude**

Five months after she had gotten Gregor's belated present, a warm day in the first week of June, Nichole was starting to realize just how productive this new hobby could be. Outside of Wrigley Field, she was squaring off against an opponent, Duel Disk in hand - and was about to deliver the final blow.

"Swords Woman, destroy his Hayabusa Knight!"

Responding to her orders loyally, the scantily clad warrior woman lifted her blade and made a leap at the hawk-headed swashbuckler in front of her, and with one powerful swipe, cleaved it in twain, reducing her opponent's Score to zero.

"All right!" she cheered, leaping with joy with her arms thrown upwards.

"You did its Nichole!" shouted Greg's voice.

Quickly, Nichole's joy turned to embarrassment, especially when Greg ran up and hugged her. Still, she was glad he finally got there to see her win; he initially hadn't been sure he'd make it at all.

An hour later, the two were at a deli nearby, where they split a meatball sub.

"So, I see you finally managed to get a Duel Disk," he noted.

"It's rented," she said with a short sigh, "but this finally gets me into the regional tournament!"

"And the thousand-dollar cash prize, right?" asked Gregory with a nod. "And a guaranteed spot in the state tournament. Just don't lose your head, remember that the folks you'll be going up against next week have come as far as you have, and they're _just _as determined. But _this _time, I can be there to cheer you on from the start."

"So then, to the future?" said Nichole. She giggled a little upon realizing she was proposing a toast with a disposable cup of Diet Pepsi.

Greg nonetheless lifted his cup and said, "And beyond!"

**End of Interlude**

The first bolt whizzed past Dugan's ear, skittering off one of the pillars with a noisy clatter. A heartbeat later, a second sliced out of the shadows from the direction of the fountain, clipping Nichole on the side of the neck as it shot past. Had the unseen crossbowman's aim been a few inches to the left, it would likely have been a mortal blow, but as it was the bolt merely grazed her.

"That did it!" shouted Francis.

Both Nichole and Dugan stepped away from him as the mystical battle-rage started to take hold, his muscles bulging through grunts and low growls; they were always cautious about being near him when the berserk kicked in. Nichole had never been completely accepting of this, nor truly trusting of it. There were too many stories about berserkers destroying towns, raping women, and murdering children.

"**Cover me!" **he grunted, then turned towards the fountain. With a loud howl, he hurled himself forward into a full-out charge toward the fountain and the source of the missiles. Dugan hefted the blunderbuss and took careful aim, firing into the shadow where the bolt that had come at him had originated. His return shot vanished into the shadows, although it was uncertain at first if she'd hit anything.

"Come on," he urged, rushing after Francis.

Nichole took a step after them, but before she could take a second, the skulks had her.

**Interlude**

"Kinda feel underdressed…"

Nichole was standing in line to sign in for the regional tournament, which she had just an hour ago learned was one of the events being held at Chicago's annual Comics Con. She really wished someone had warned her in advance. Not that she was really into cosplaying herself, but things like this made her feel uncomfortable.

She had already passed by two female attendees dressed like Aeon Flux, three dressed like Vampirella, _four _dressed like Ivy Valentine, and one each of practically every video game, comic book, and film heroine she had ever heard of. Not that all of them were girls. Right now, the line she was in - where the tournament contestants had to sign in - included someone dressed like Judge Dredd and another like M. Bison, and she couldn't help but wonder what sort of decks they had.

"Honestly," she whispered to Greg, "is there some subconscious drive in humans that gives them the urge to make fools of themselves?"

"Think it has more to do with folks who love being the center of attention," he replied. He focused on another cosplayer in a Harley Quinn outfit. "And it does help when you have a mask."

He raised an eyebrow as the Harley cosplayer was joined by one dressed as Snow White. The two were clearly friends, greeting each other with a hug. _When worlds collide, _he thought, watching the pair.

Nichole was in the middle of signing the registration form when she heard, "Hey, aren't you that Amazon duelist?"

She looked up and met Roxy for the first time….

**End of Interlude**

Nichole had gotten into quite a few fights that had degenerated into something like this.

The two skulks had tackled her, and before she could even get her bearings - or realized that one of them had pinned her arms - the other was doing its best to slug her in the face. She could feel bruises coming, but she knew from experience how to get out of this.

"GET AWAY!" she yelled. She stomped her heel down on the skulk's foot; the slight loosening of its grip assured her the first part had worked, so she moved right to part two, throwing her head back and slamming it into the skulk's face, causing it to let go and fall backwards.

"Mrr…" said the other skulk, but Nichole's arms were free now, and it quickly got a knuckle to the face and a second to the jaw.

She held her stomach briefly, then looked at the fallen skulks. The one she had head-butted… Its face looked like _clay, _or rather a ball of clay with a crater-shaped indentation in it.

She had no idea if they were dead or unconscious, but she wasn't about to stay and find out. She ran into the tunnel, following the others.

Far ahead of her, Francis barreled down the confines of the narrow tunnel like a boulder rolling down a steep slope, heedless of trap or ambush. His arm stung where a skulk's rapier had briefly penetrated his defenses, and two crossbows had struck him in the back, but both all three wounds were healing fast, the one he had gotten before from the dark creeper now bothering him no more than an insect sting. He ignored the hurt as a trifling annoyance, even as he grabbed one of the skulks and slammed it to the floor, twice.

The others might be behind him or might not; it was only a vague thought now, and did not distract him from his goal, which now, was to catch up to his foes and _crush _them.

When Nichole was still dealing with the pair of skulks, he'd engaged with another pair, one of whom managed to jab him in the torso with its knife, only to be crushed by the Shadowchaser's mighty fist. He had managed to get a glancing hit on the other before it had turned and fled further into the tunnel, but Francis was far too canny to assume that it was no longer a threat.

The tunnel ended up ahead, opening into another dark room full of trash and rubble. This wasn't going to be easy.

"**I know you're in here," **he growled. **"I can smell you… Smell your fear… Heh, I always wanted to say that."**

He wasn't truly lying, of course, and he'd had expected the attack, so when the skulk lunged for him, one simple backhand knocked it over, its knife falling from its grasp with a large clatter.

The skulk fled, darting toward the far side of the room where one of the round gear-doors could be seen. It didn't make for that closed portal, however, instead reaching for an empty torch-sconce set into the wall.

Its hand closed around it at the same moment that Francis grabbed it by the arm and slammed it hard into the wall.

The Shadow tried to crawl away, its legs thrashing as it let out a terrible moan of pain. Francis stepped forward to stand over it, lifting his foot to finish the skulk off with a mighty stomp.

"_No keel,"_ the creature said, huddling against the wall, covering its head with its arms. Francis stopped. This one seemed smarter than the last ones, able to speak halting English. _"Warf no keel, me helps, no hurts, no keel."_

Francis growled a little, regarding it coldly. Most of him right now wanted to disregard this coward's plea for mercy and crush it into paste, but unlike most berserkers, he still had a tether to his conscience that held him back. He stomped down, his foot slamming on the floor _next _to the skulk. Slowly the rage in him started to eb.

"**Okay, Stretch, fine, but no tricks. Start talking."**

**Interlude**

Nichole had at first assumed Roxy was another cosplayer, even though she was unable to place who she was supposed to be.

She doubted _any _girl's mother, human or otherwise, would let her leave the house with the amount of skin she was showing. Her tiny crop top was barely more than a sports bra, surrounded by a spike-studded leather jacket, and her short-shorts were cut off jeans that didn't even seem to reach the bottom of her waist. Said shorts had a pair of handcuffs hooked to one of the belt loops. Completing the look were leather boots with five-inch heels that looked like they'd be painful even to slowly walk in. Her long hair had two dyed purple streaks, and the ensemble was topped with a biker's hat. All this nearly distracted Nichole's attention from her pointed ears, _very _deep green eyes, and sharp features that indicated she was an elf.

Still, she seemed friendly enough now, and was hardly the only one at the convention dressed like a slut, so Nichole didn't pry. Roxy even treated her to lemonade at a nearby vendor while continuing to inquire about her deck.

"So, why Amazons?" asked Roxy.

"I dunno, they seemed sort of," replied Nichole, stopping for a minute to find the right word.

"Badass?" asked Roxy. "A bunch of ladies who don't take any crap from anyone?"

Nichole smirked and nodded. "Yeah," she said with a slight laugh.

"Thing is," said Roxy, "I read something about the Amazons once. They're supposedly tough, but, well, they always lose."

Nichole coughed, the odd statement almost causing her to inhale the lemonade. "Say what?"

"Well, let's see," continued Roxy. She stirred her lemonade as she talked. "Hercules defeated the entire Amazon army by himself… Hercules, now there's a guy I could knock boots with…"

"Ahem," said Nichole, snappy Roxy out of the daydream. Roxy noticed the stern look from Nichole and went on. "Theseus kidnapped one of them and defeated the whole battalion that they sent to get her back. They lost to Bellerophon after he slew the Chimera, and during the Trojan War, their Queen tried to take on Achilles and lost her eyes for it."

"Much like almost anyone who tried to take him on," said Nichole, coldly.

"Yeah, well, for some reason, all those ancient Greek storytellers never seemed able to conceive a story where the Amazons came out on top. Heh, so to speak."

Just then, the loudspeaker interrupted them. **"Attention, B and F quarterfinalists to the east auditorium. Duels beginning in ten minutes."**

"Dang, that's me," said Roxy. "Well, see you on the flip side."

Nichole sighed and leaned on her hands as she watched Roxy leave, noting that the back of her shorts left even less to the imagination than the front. _Unbelievable, _she thought.

"So, what did I miss?" asked Greg's voice.

**End of Interlude**

Dugan and Nichole found Francis a few minutes later. Nichole quickly recounted her side of the failed ambush, but their attention was fixed on their captive, who was curled up in the corner, trembling. They disregarded it for the moment, and using their two light sources, got a better view of where they were.

The room was relatively compact, with one corner dominated by a pit leading down to a tunnel below. A foul stench filled the place, the source immediately obvious as the carcass of a slain creature. The thing was some sort of giant arachnid with eight legs, its bulbous body having the thorax and abdomen of a spider, with an exoskeleton that was rotting and falling apart. The head, however, had a large proboscis, and its front legs could better be described as arms, arms with crab-like pincers.

"That's an odd spider," said Nichole.

"It's a cave fisher," replied Dugan. "Let's hope there aren't any live ones around."

They turned their attention to the captive skulk, whom Arun was interrogating harshly, his berserk starting to fade, but still usable. Nichole walked over to them, noticing that the skulk cringed at her arrival.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well, they've been working with the gnome—the locksmith—all right," Arun said. "Though he blames the kidnapping of the children on the creepers."

"Where are the children now?" Nichole demanded of the skulk. She looked at the wounded skulk with a mixture of pity and revulsion but made no move to help it.

"_Dar Drumbos Malachot!" _it pleaded_. "Dar Drumbos Malachot!" _

"The Malachite Fortress?" asked Dugan.

"Why do I not like the sound of that?" Nichole asked.

Dugan unfolded the slip of paper with the riddle and looked at it again.

"_Descend into the malachite hold._We're getting there."

"**Oh, and he says he knows where the gnome's dog is," **added Francis,** "if that means anything."**

"Well, if we run across it, let's take it," Nichole growled. "It can keep him company in jail." She still wasn't in the best of moods, from being manhandled _twice _and double-teamed the second time_. _

"Nichole, Francis, look over here, I think I found something..."

Dugan was examining the torch sconce that the creature had been trying to reach, and a casual inspection quickly discovered that the wall contained a secret door, operated by turning the bracket to the side.

"There we go."

"**What do we do with him?" **asked Francis.

The skulk seemed utterly broken, occasionally breaking into a screech or a wail of pain, his cries only growing worse when Dugan moved towards it.

_Damn, _thought the Shadowchaser. "Nichole, bring the light over here!"

It became clear after a few minutes, however, that the skulk knew little more than what it had already told Francis. As Nichole held the light, he dug through his pouches again, eventually producing a pen, an index card, and an odd-looking crystal. Right now, he plainly remembered saying this would _not _be Shadowchaser business, but this had become too serious to overlook.

"It's stalling for time," he said. "It knows that an alarm has probably been issued, and it expects others to come looking for us."

"Listen here!" he said to the skulk in a demanding voice. He took it by the wrist and slammed the card into its hand. "I could take the time here to explain what a 'protective custody recommendation' means but given your likely IQ I'll make this brief. Give THAT to the first person you see if you want _any _chance of seeing your next birthday, got it?"

It made a small guttural sound, but Dugan was not in the mood. He lifted the crystal to the skulk, and magical energy flowed from it, covering the skulk with a similar aura. In a few seconds, it was gone, transported via teleportation to the holding unit at Shadowchasers HQ.

"Let's move."

**Interlude**

"Nichole, seriously, don't let her get to you."

Greg's comforting words were an encouragement for Nichole, even though he had only confirmed Roxy's claim further.

"Sure, the Amazons never won in the old myths, but you know something? That was also true for Ares, the god of war itself." He held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye as he continued. "This isn't a battle, it's a card game. As a wise man once said, war does not make one great."

'Didn't Yoda say that?" asked Nichole.

"Maybe, but he was still a wise man, right?" Nichole couldn't help but giggle and nod.

"Now go in there and knock em dead, okay?"

Nichole nodded, and turned to the auditorium door.

_Showtime, _she thought.

**End of Interlude**

"Nichole, I need the last one."

"This is your third one!" she remarked.

Nonetheless, she took dug through her pouch for the last can of Gatorade they had brought and handed it to him. The berserk was a potent weapon, but it drained his energy fast. They'd quickly found that the sports' drinks could be more useful for a berserker than even a healing potion and tasted a lot better.

The secret door had opened onto a corridor that ran ahead and to their left, eventually forking again after a short distance, a side-branch heading off to their right. Shining their lights down both branches of the intersection, they saw that to the right the corridor continued a short distance before ending in one of the gear-doors, while ahead it opened onto a room.

"What about these doors?" Nichole asked. "The skulks seem awfully fond of using them to set up ambushes."

"The skulk said they're all trapped," answered Francis. "Guessing that's why they don't use them."

"_Beware the doors with teeth,_" Dugan said. "That was in Jenya's divination. Gnomish traps can be tricky, as Mr. Ghelve demonstrated."

With this warning in mind, they pressed on ahead, toward the open chamber.

Dugan's flashlight pushed back the shadows, revealing an oval-shaped room with a vaulted ceiling a good fifteen feet above. Another passage identical to the one they entered through exited on the far side of the room, and another gear-door was visible in the wall to their right. But their attention was drawn to the center of the room, where a stone-rimmed bath easily twenty feet long took up much of the floor space in the room. A grinning stone mouth poured water into the bath from above, which in turn swirled into a drain on the far side. But that wasn't what had caught their eye; rather, it was the network of cobwebs that cluttered the ceiling, and the man-sized husk that dangled from them just above the center of the pool.

"Okay, okay, think I know the drill here," Francis said. "We go for the body, expecting to find something important on it, and then the spider—probably hiding up there—leaps down and attacks us. Well I'm not taking the bait."

"Suit yourself," Nichole said, stepping into the room. "Not gonna be scared away by some bug." Of course, Francis smirked a little as he noticed that Nichole was trying her best to stay near the wall, giving the pool a wide berth as she headed for the far exit. He turned to Dugan and shrugged, and they both followed.

To his chagrin, however, he had only been half-right. The spider - or rather, cave fisher - had not been hiding above, but in the pool itself, apparently not inconvenienced in the least by all the water—and sprang at the Nichole when she was halfway across.

Unfortunately for Nichole, her claim of not being afraid of bugs wasn't exactly the truth. Small ones she was okay with; this one was the size of a pony, but several times as fast, darting forward with its eight hairy legs clacking slightly on the stone floor as it moved. Its fangs were the size of daggers, and it stabbed with them as Nichole shrieked and tried to get out of the way. She managed to draw her weapon but dropped it as the thing bit into her upper arm.

It hissed loudly, looming over her as it prepared a second strike…

**Interlude**

Nichole had found out what sort of deck "M. Bison" used, as she also found out he was her opponent for the quarterfinals. The Pandemonium Field Spell had been a dead giveaway. And it had been a tough match, with her Life Points now at 1,000 and his at 1,200. Right now, her Amazoness Blowpiper (800 ATK) and Amazoness Trainee (1,500 ATK) were facing down Terrorking Archfiend (2,000 ATK), Shadowknight Archfiend (2,000 ATK), and Vilepawn Archfiend (1,200 ATK), with her now-fading Swords of Revealing Light the only thing keeping the three Fiends at bay.

"I'll end my turn, meaning your Swords expire," he said, the glimmering Swords fading as the illusory card shattered. "It's your move."

"Then I draw a card," exclaimed Nichole, "and my Blowpiper's effect activates!"

The Amazoness put her blowpipe to her lips, and with a hollow, puffing sound, shot a dart, hitting Vilepawn right above the clavicle. It made a low moan, doubling over while the point of its sword hit the floor. (700 ATK)

"Then I'll use Amazoness Spellcaster!" she continued. "This card swaps the Attack Score of one of my Amazoness monsters with one of your monsters. So, _tit for tat, make this like that!"_

(Amazoness Blowpiper: 2,000 ATK; Shadowknight Archfiend: 800 ATK)

"But I won't be attacking her yet, because I'm trading in Trainee to summon the royalty of _my _deck!"

Trainee crossed her arms and winked slyly at Bison before fading away, quickly replaced by the Amazoness Queen, now looking much fiercer and energetic than she did on her card. (2,400 ATK)

"Attack! Queen takes Pawn!"

She certainly did, leaping at Vilepawn and with one slash of her mighty scimitar, vanquishing it and reducing her opponent to zero Life Points.

"Checkmate!" she said with a laugh, before the holograms faded and dispersed.

She was surprised to be glomped a second later by Greg, who added a "You did it!" as he hugged her.

"Uh, thanks Greg."

"So, want to catch lunch before the semifinals?" he asked. "You're going to need to refuel for this one."

"Who am I dueling?" she asked.

"That would be me," said a familiar voice.

**End of Interlude**

Francis had been just a few steps behind Nichole, and surged in as the spider tried to lunge, grabbing Nichole. The monster's fangs snapped on empty air as he spun and pushed Nichole out of its reach. The spider did not relent, immediately turning on him and directing its terrible bite at this larger, juicier prey. Francis screamed even louder than Nichole did as the vermin's fangs sank into his leg.

Fortunately, it didn't see Dugan aiming his blunderbuss, and the spider made for a large target. The first blast didn't seem to do much more than stun the creature, but Francis got his second wind and smashed his foot into the thing's ugly face. There was an audible crack as the beast sagged under the force of the blow. With a loud click, Dugan shifted the setting on his weapon. It hesitated and turned towards him, but only gave Dugan a clearer target as he fired. With a terrible screech, the cave fisher crumpled, its legs twitching violently before it finally fell still.

"Francis, are you all right?" Dugan asked, as Francis leaned against the wall, his face a rictus of pain.

"Uh, Nichole, think I can have that healing spell _now?" _he weakly asked.

Nichole didn't really need to answer, but even as she applied the spell and the wound started to close, Francis was worried. Was this spider the poisonous variety? He slowly stood up with that unpleasant thought in mind.

"Heads-up everyone, this isn't over."

They saw what Dugan meant. Two more spiders were descending from the webs, one crawling along the slanted wall toward them while a second dropped on a slender strand of webbing. These were smaller than the first, perhaps the size of large dogs, but still imposing as they dropped to attack. "Dammit!" shouted Nichole, but this time managed to ready her sword.

"Blasted bugs!" Dugan yelled, firing again and this time blasting the first one in half. The other headed for Francis, correctly assuming he was the weakest prey.

_Getting sick of this, _thought Nichole. She bent down and pulled a long knife from her boot. "DUCK!" she yelled. Francis did so, nearly falling over as she hurled it at the vermin, scoring a hit to the head that finished the creature.

Francis looked at the impaled spider and then at Nichole. "Damn…." was all he could say.

Dugan lowered his weapon as he scanned the webs, wary of any more attackers, but it seems that if there were more spiders, they were content to let them be for now. "Let's move," he said.

No one disagreed, so they left via the other passage, Francis still limping slightly as he followed behind.

**Interlude**

"'Tit for tat, make this that'? Who'd you hear _that _from, Wendy the Good Little Witch?"

Nichole was less concerned by Roxy making fun of her than the scoreboard overhead, which had just moved her name into the semifinals slot. Right next to the name "Roxanne Jules, which she assumed was Roxy."

"We're up next," said Roxy, confirming it. "Well, see ya in an hour." She turned and started to walk away, only for Nichole to interject, calling her name. Roxy simply stopped and turned around halfway.

"Roxy, do I know you from somewhere?" she asked.

"Heh, nah," replied Roxy. "Think we might have a few friends in common though."

Nichole looked at her watch. _One hour, _she thought, _count on it._

**End of Interlude**

"We're going around in circles, I just know it," complained Nichole.

Dugan unfolded the map and examined it with the flashlight again. "Actually, you're right. It looks like this complex is just a big ring around the center stairs."

"Translation?" asked Nichole.

"We're not going to get anywhere unless we use those doors."

"Wonderful, we have to go back to the skulk tunnels then," she said with a sigh.

It did indeed look like that was the only option. The dead body of the skulk that had ambushed them and the illusory lights were proof that they had been here before.

"Well, I think..." Francis began.

"I know," Nichole interrupted. "You want to go back to the surface, get help."

Francis shook his head. "Actually, what I was going to say was, we should see about finding the entrance to this 'Malachite Fortress' place, whatever that is." He held his head, recalling the words he'd had with the skulk when he was still berserk.

"That guy said that there's a lift that connects the gnome enclave to the fortress. It's accessed by a secret door, he said that it's in the area occupied by the leader of the creepers, to the northeast."

"_Descend into the malachite hold, where precious life is bought with gold,_" Dugan intoned.

"Dugan, seriously, can you stop that?" asked Nichole. "It's creepy."

"Well, that message hasn't been wrong yet."

"Okay, okay," said Francis, "if we're going to go right into the lion's den let's do it already. Let's try the tunnel that the first skulk took, you know, the one that got away."

As they retracted their steps to that room, Francis held his forehead. He was sweating.

_Spider was poisonous all right, _he thought, but he didn't want to say it out loud. Yet.

Soon they were back in that first room off the chamber of the masks. The room was dark now, the sunrod that they'd seen before still on the floor where they'd left it. The body of the first skulk, they instantly noticed, had moved, somehow dragged from the mouth of the tunnel and left to the near the adjacent pile of rubble.

"Somebody's been here," Dugan quietly warned. They nodded in reply.

With his flashlight again illuminating the way, he led them into the new tunnel. This one stretched on for far longer than the ones they'd taken earlier, and they crept warily down its length for a good while before it crooked to the left and then back right again, drawing them gradually onto a downward slant. Finally, they reached a fork, with the tunnel splitting off into identical tube-shaped tunnels heading north and south. Following the directive given by the skulk prisoner, they took the north way.

The tunnel continued for a good forty feet or so before it emerged on the eastern edge of another large hall. This chamber stretched a good fifty feet or so ahead of them and was perhaps twenty feet across. They could just make out three exits, another rough-hewn tunnel at the far end and two passages that exited via the north and south walls. There was more trash and rubble stacked against the wall to their right, but other than that the place appeared empty and deserted

"And if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you," mumbled Nichole.

"Huh?" asked Francis.

"Nothing. Stay alert."

Nichole held the staff high and moved cautiously into the chamber. She barely managed a few paces, however, when a panicked warning from Francis caused her to stop cold.

"Nichole!" he said, his tone close to panic. "You're... you're fading!"

She froze. She cautiously looked down at herself—it was true, as he watched he found that he could see _through_ his arm to the floor below, and a heartbeat later there was nothing, not even an outline of her limbs and torso.

She was disappearing…. _Vanishing…_

_No… _she thought.

_**And on that ominous note, our chapter comes to an end.**_

_**Next time not only will this nightmarish sojourn into Jzadirune continue, but more will be revealed about Nichole's past, and her first confrontation with Roxy. Be there!**_

_**But before I truly sign off, it's time for another…**_

**Shadowchaser Files**

**Madca's Troupe: The Imp**

(Again, the information detailed here was compiled by my associate, Chester Chaun. A small amount of skepticism on his works is advised.)

The first member of this odd group of performers I spoke to was the man using this odd stage name. His real name is Clarence, and I'll leave it at that. Wouldn't want his last name to become public knowledge for reasons stated below.

At first glance, Clarence not only seems human, but strikingly handsome. He has blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, richly tanned skin, and a smile with perfect teeth. However, this only lasts so long as he wears a shirt with a turtleneck. Removing it reveals a tumor-like growth covering his shoulder and lower part of his neck, a wriggling, demonic thing shaped like a horrid face. This tumor has a name of its own, Importum, but most simply call it the Imp.

Now, Importum is quite mindless, but Clarence seems able to see through its eyes. When performing (which he usually does as a warm-up act for another performer, not always another member of the Troupe) he blindfolds himself, and then asks a spectator to hold up a personal item. The Imp whispers in Clarence's ear (or so he claims) and he states what the item is. This is, in fact, a bit of carnie fakery - the Imp can't speak - but it does get the crowd riled up for whatever act is coming next.

No description of the Imp would be complete without mentioning The Brute, another member of the Troupe. He's a circus strongman who quickly draws the attention of spectators, not only due to his enormous size, but his executioner's hood covering his face, plus his lack of a shirt, showing off a muscular torso with a flaming skull tattooed on his chest. His actual name is Tosk, but only Clarence calls him that; it just doesn't seem to fit. As a performer, he's been seen wrestling bears, lifting barbells that seem impossibly huge, and bending horseshoes into pretzels. Clarence got the idea to sell those as souvenirs, which has worked out rather well. The two have been inseparable since the day they met, which is odd, considering how, at the time, Clarence tried to belt him with a length of pipe.

**The Chant About the Imp: **Clarence was born to a family in a community that can best be described as secular. (I'm not naming the town where he was born, nor the religious faith of his parents, it's too easy to let one's opinion cloud one's judgment in such matters. I will say here, however, that showing blind faith to anything - be it a religion, nation, or political movement - is never wise.) His parents were quite well-off, and he was their first child. His birth, however, as you might expect, was a spectacle. Both his mother and the midwife delivering him screamed at the sight of the thing on his shoulder.

It's not like they didn't seek treatment, but the doctor they had access to diagnosed that trying to surgically remove the tumor would likely kill the child. They went to their spiritual advisor (again, I'm not giving any titles), who was likely the most respected man they knew. But the advice he gave was even worse. After examining young Clarence and contemplating many hours, he ruled that because this growth had its own head, it must have its own soul, and killing it would amount to murder of a child. In fact, he ruled that they had to name both the growth _and _the child to which it was attached!

As one might expect, poor Clarence had an unhappy childhood. Other children treated him cruelly, and adults shunned him as they would a monster. His parents were no better. All this made Clarence antisocial, withdrawn, and at times, violent.

When he was 14 years old, his parents took him to a visiting carnival, and abandoned him there.

This rejection was more than the boy could take. He grabbed a wrench, the nearest blunt object he could find, and stormed through the crowd in a delirious effort to find and kill his parents. They were long gone, of course, but in his rage, it was clear he'd try to use it on the first person who stood in his way. As fate would have it, that was Tosk.

The huge orc was in no danger from a young child with a wrench, disarming him with ease and trying his best to restrain him, then carried him away from the onlookers.

What happened to Clarence that night was hard to say, but he seemed to have changed remarkably overnight. Some whisper that joining the Troupe is some sort of punishment, a type of indentured servitude, but he has, by his own admission, been with the Troupe for eight years now. As far as anyone knows, he doesn't seem to be the type to hurt a fly. At least not anymore.

I'm no psychologist, but I can't help but worry whether the resentment in him is truly gone. One thing I do know is, Clarence reacts badly to liquor; by his own admission, he can't hold it. He's only had it twice, as far as we know, but those two times, he flew into a rage, where he claimed the Imp had somehow "enslaved" him. He even tried to cut the Imp off with a kitchen knife, his anger so intense that no less than three members of the Troupe - one of whom was Tosk - could barely restrain him.

**The Dark About the Imp: **As I've said before, Chester's analysis can often be unreliable, and in this case, he is wrong about one crucial bit of information. The horrid growth on Clarence's shoulder is _not _a mindless piece of flesh. The grand irony is that the clergyman who claimed it had a soul was righter than anyone ever imagined. However, it's also _not _the malevolent demon Clarence's parents assumed it was.

Problem was, for the first part of Clarence's life, the Imp couldn't see and couldn't speak. But it _could _listen. It heard the vile insults hissed at Clarence, and the terrible accusations made towards its "brother" behind its back. Worse, it could hear Clarence's thoughts as well, as a life of rejection sent him plummeting into self-loathing and violent revenge-fantasies. It worried, almost continuously, that Clarence would snap, his fantasies turning to a violent, murderous rage.

Worse, Clarence would soon be more than the average boy, because that very day he was abandoned was the day his latent Awareness kicked in, and he saw the Shadows for the first time. Two traumatic experiences only a few hours apart drove poor Clarence over the edge into madness, and to this day, remains a violent lunatic bent on killing anything and everything he encounters. But his "brother" had other ideas.

The outward personality Clarence shows - docile, calm, patient, and inquisitive - is actually that of the Imp, a separate personality keeping its "brother "restrained Clarence's true self is usually a prisoner in his own body, constantly screaming rabid curses at his "brother" while struggling to escape.

As far as Tosk goes, his background is much simpler. He was an orc who used to work for a coven of hags who, without his knowledge, subjected him to a variety of magical experiments, the result of which made him much stronger, but also far uglier, even by orc standards. His friendship with Imperius is genuine, and he's the only person (aside from, maybe, the mysterious leader of the Troupe) to know the truth about Clarence's condition. His true function is to keep an eye on Clarence and make sure his violent side does not surface, and if it does, restrain him before he kills himself or someone else.

**Story Ideas: **Clarence is indeed a tragic figure, but that doesn't make him less dangerous. A story involving the Troupe might revolve around finding a way to cure his madness, but whether he could ever live a life that could be defined as "normal" is unlikely. Even if it were somehow possible to "cure" him in a way that purged one of the two personalities, it would mean murdering the other. Again, it's very ironic how sound that clergyman's diagnosis was.

There's also the question of how he was born that way in the first place, a variable that has been left open-ended intentionally.

If simply used alongside the rest of the Troupe (as allies or enemies) he and Tosk could simply fill the generic "big guy/little guy" role.


	6. The Underdwellers

_Hey, folks. I've got a lot of news right now, some of it good, some of it bad._

_My family and I are all fine. That's good. However, due to the crisis at hand, everyone at work has gotten an unannounced two-week vacation, as did my brother, sister-in-law, and niece. Plus, a lot of services around here are closed. Which is bad._

_On the plus side, I have a LOT of free time, so I'll likely have far more time to write. Which is good._

_And the frogurt is also cursed. That's bad. _

_Anyway, for anyone who is also having problems with this mess, hopefully this can lighten it up a little. Stay safe and enjoy!_

**0-0-0-0-0**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Part Six**

**The Underdwellers**

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**0-0-0-0-0**

Nichole felt her two limbs, and then her torso. Then she lifted her arm. It was true, she could see _through_ her arm to the floor below. It was as if he had suddenly become disembodied, a ghost without tangible substance; except that she _was _tangible, her hands proved she was still as solid as ever.

_Invisible, _she thought.

While marveling at this revelation, she was startled by Francis yelling, "Nichole, are you…"

"I'm still here!" she called back. "At least… I think I am…"

She slowly took a few steps backward, while looking at her arms, slowly, they reappeared, along with the rest of her. She stepped forward again and started to fade again. "I'm okay, just invisible. But only when I'm here."

"Another persistent illusory effect." Dugan stroked his chin. "A magical aura that hides whatever enters the chamber from anyone outside it."

"Huh," said Francis. He stepped forward himself, holding up his hand in front of him and pushing it forward in order to witness the clearly. Sure enough, the hand started to fade from view just a few moments after entering. He pulled it back and said, "Visible," and then stuck it in and said. "Invisible." Then he went back and forth quickly, saying "Visible… Invisible! Visible, Invisible."

"Will you knock it -"

Nichole's annoyed scolding was interrupted by the sound of a voice that echoed clearly from the far end of the chamber.** "**_**Galama ache tesiram!" **_it screamed. Only Dugan recognized the language, but it seemed demanding, and they could have sworn they heard the voice before...

"Gnomish?" said Dugan. Unfortunately, his two proteges didn't see the sudden look of realization that hit his face, as he realized exactly _what_ the purpose of those words were.

A loud creaking noise filled the room, like gears and pistons on an old mill starting up. It was close, _very _close, close enough to almost to feel the vibrations in their teeth as a solid _thump! _followed the initial sound, followed a moment later by an almost painful metallic screech. Before any of them could react to these sudden developments, they heard yet another sound: Nichole screaming in pain, followed by the clatter of metal falling on stone. Dugan watched Nichole's sword skid from where she had dropped it, skittering to a stop at his feet, as the shroud of invisibility slowly started to dispel.

And now it was _very _clear what the spell had been hiding.

**Interlude**

_Years ago. Showtime._

"Feeling the heat yet, Nichole?" said Roxy, in a gloating tone.

"Cool as a cucumber," came the reply.

Of course, Nichole had an uphill battle ahead of her.

**(Nichole: 5,700) - - - - - - - - - - (Roxy: 5,000)**

She was ahead on Points, but Roxy had just narrowed the gap by summoning a colossal centipede with a blood-red exoskeleton, blade-like mandibles, and a _really _ugly face. (2,800 ATK) All Nichole had right now was a set card in her Spell/Trap Zone.

"I'm not afraid of bugs, Roxy," she continued, making her draw to start her turn. "Grow up living in South Deering and you get used to them. I summon Amazoness Blowpiper!"

The card appeared, causing a nubile native woman to leap from it, make somersault, and land on her feet in front of Nichole. Wearing a scaly green bikini top and loincloth, her wavy pompadour was held in place by a jawbone and had a ponytail in the back. Small skulls also adorned her leather strap boots. True to her name, she produced a blowpipe tipped with another small skull and adorned with feathers. (800 ATK)

"I know, you're looking at her and thinking your monster is 2,000 points stronger. Well, that's the idea! See, I can use the Spell Card Amazoness Spellcaster. You remember that, right? Since you thought that last phrase was lame, how about… Presto Chango, Rearrange-O!"

Playing the new card brought forth the sound of ominous chanting as the phantasmal image of an old, female shaman casting a dark hex. Blowpiper's eyes glowed blood red as she stared at the huge bug without blinking… (Doom Dozer: 2,800 - 800, Amazoness Blowpiper: 800 - 2,800)

Roxy rolled her eyes. "Don't quit your day job," she said with a sigh.

"Swat that big bug!" ordered Nichole, and the Blowpiper was only too eager, putting the blowgun to her lips and sending four needle-sharp darts soaring towards the Doom Dozer, piercing its armored hide as it roared furiously, and then crashed loudly at Roxy's feet, then shattered into triangles.

**(Nichole: 5,700) - - - - - - - - - - (Roxy: 3,000)**

"Now I'll use Queen's Pawn!" She held out her open palm, activating her Trap. The new monster who emerged elected a lot of catcalls from the crowd. She was a Warrior woman with a leather bikini adorned with animal teeth, and a flowing mane of unkempt red hair. She bore a huge sword effortlessly as she eyed her target - Roxy. (1,500 ATK)

"Amazoness Swords Woman, direct attack!" The Amazoness complied, lunging at her foe…

**End of Interlude**

_A robot, _thought Dugan.

That was the first word to come to mind, but in hindsight, he figured "automaton" might have been a better term. It looked like it had been built with the same Steampunk technology that had invented the Ancient Gear monsters, but under a different designer.

It was a machination that was vaguely human-shaped, but stout, a construct of plates and gears that had the look of an iron barrel. It had stubby arms, one of which had a huge pincer claw, the other an equally huge drilling bit. It had no discernable eyes, ears, or mouth, but it clearly had no difficulty marking the three humans as targets; indeed, the aura of invisibility had let it get a jump on the two younger Shadowchasers, proven by the fact it was now holding Nichole by the waist - and several feet off the floor - with the claw.

"Let her go, you blasted piece of junk!" shouted Francis. Unfortunately, slamming his sword into the construct's leg seemed to do little but annoy it, and a simple backhand slap with its non-hand propelled him backwards violently.

It turned towards Dugan and stepped forward, causing the floor to tremble as Dugan watched in horrified fascination. He lifted his weapon and fired, but the magical bolt barely left a blemish on the thing's metal shell.

_Damn, _he thought.

"What IS this thing?" screamed Nichole.

"Keep it occupied, I got an idea!" shouted Dugan.

"Ugh, keep it occupied?" Francis sat up and looked at the huge automaton. _Well, okay, _he thought. "HEY, bolt-brain, over here!" The robot turned slightly towards him. "Yeah, you want some of this, lunk-head?"

The construct dropped Nichole, who fell on her behind with a loud "OOF!" It turned towards Francis, lifting its drill arm, which now started to spin. The horrible noise it made was like a dentist drill amplified to 130 decibels and reminded both the younger Shadowchasers how much they _hated _going to the dentist.

Fortunately, this machine wasn't very fast. As it advanced with the drill pointed at Francis, he started backing away from it, hoping for two things: that Dugan's idea was a good one, and that the wall was far enough behind him for Dugan to pull it off before he reached it…

Meanwhile, Dugan had resorted to dumping out _all _the contents of his satchel in order to find what he needed, a small cylindrical device about the size of a TV remote. It had a small microphone diaphragm on one end, a small dial on the side, two buttons - red and blue - near the diaphragm, and a sliding switch on the other side that could be moved to four settings labeled E, D, G, and O.

This was a translator device, used by the Shadowchasers when dealing with isolated groups who never bothered learning any human languages. The settings were Elvish, Dwarven, Gnomish, and Orcish, the four most common Shadowkind languages. There were other versions of it for less common tongues, but he didn't need that now.

He moved the switch to the G, then moved the dial - which controlled the volume - to maximum. _Hope this works, _he thought. He held down the red button with his thumb, and said, "Stop! Do NOT attack!" Then he hit the blue button, and a louder version of his voice emitted from the device saying, _"Thry! Kav no Kahr!"_

The automaton looked slightly towards him, then fully towards him. It hesitated.

Dugan repeated the command, trying his best to use the demanding tone he used so many years ago when drilling new Marine recruits. "Lower your weapon!" he ordered, the translator changing it to _"Lowrumm ithrun!"_

The automaton lurched to a stop, the drill on its arm grinding to a halt and dropping down toward the ground.

"Wow…." said Francis. "How'd you… Nichole!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" she insisted, despite groaning and holding her side as he helped her up. "I'll be okay. These ribs have been through worse."

"Lift your right arm." Nichole noted that the order had come from Dugan and was about to do so until he used the device to translate it again, and the device obeyed.

"Take one step backwards," he ordered, again causing the machine to do exactly that.

"It does what you say!" said Nichole, gleefully.

Dugan nodded, then tried one more thing. He spoke, "Activate invisibility field," and then hit the blue button. When the robot heard the command in gnome, it turned about and moved slowly in a circle. After a few moments the invisibility effect started to take effect again, causing itself and the three Shadowchasers to fade from their own eyesight.

"A robot with an excavating drill and armored plate that can turn invisible," said Dugan with a satisfied nod. "Shadowchasers… We have a new ally, and I think our chances of finding those children just improved."

**Interlude**

The crowd was cheering loudly, and not in the way Roxy would have liked.

**(Nichole: 5,700) - - - - - - - - - - (Roxy: 1,500)**

The impact from Swords Woman's assault caused her to tumble backwards and fall on her behind, an injury that was more embarrassing than it was painful.

"I'll end my turn there," said Nichole. "Uh…" She noticed Roxy was sweating and holding her head as she got up. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, fine," said Roxy. "Just kinda hot… Damn, do they even _have _air conditioning here? Hold on a minute…"

She unfastened the Duel Disk on her arm in order to pull her arm out of the jacket's sleeve, then tossed the jacket aside, along with her hat. "There, better." Once she had refastened the Disk, she made her draw.

Nichole squinted her eyes a little… She thought she saw something on Roxy now that the jacket was gone… Something she didn't like…

"Okay, here we go!" said Roxy. "Because you have monsters and I don't, I can, with no sacrifices, Normal Summon the Level 7 Hundred-Footed Horror!"

As she played the card, the ground started to rumble until it split, disgorging another giant centipede, one that looked like Doom Dozer only smaller and with a brown carapace. (2,600 ATK)

"Of course, since I did that, it loses half of its Attack Score." (1,300 ATK) "But that's all I need right now."

The Horror lunged at Blowpiper, clamping its mandibles around the Amazoness and lifting her in the air with its jaws. There was a loud gulping sound as Blowpiper was swallowed whole.

Nichole shuddered a little, but Roxy just smirked at her as she used a Spell Card. "I'm using Verdant Sanctuary, which will turn this auditorium into an arboretum."

"Ugh, and you said _my _jokes were lame," muttered Nichole. Even as she said so, the Solid Vision system set to work, causing trees, ferns, and shrubs to sprout around them and turning the whole dueling floor into a one-acre rainforest. "You think this will scare my girls? Where do you think the word 'Amazon' comes from?"

"Mmm, South America, despite all the stories about them taking place in Greece." She set one card, and then said, "By all means, bring it on."

Nichole watched her intently as the new card was set behind Hundred-Footed Horror, and then made her draw. _Amazoness Fighter, _she thought. _Okay, deep breaths, Nichole, you can do this. One more direct attack and you have it won!_

Playing the card caused a new Amazoness, one with a mullet and ponytail, a blue bikini top and breechcloth, and muscular, toned, arms, legs, and torso emerged, flexing threateningly. She had no weapon, but just from the look of her, all she needed were her fists. (1,500 ATK)

"Destroy Hundred Footed Horror, attack!"

Fighter grit her teeth, made a great, powerful leap, and brought the soles of both feet down on the giant bug's skull with a powerful crushing noise. The huge bug collapsed face-first. Slimy residue was splattered over Roxy as the creature burst, causing the audience to howl in laughter.

**(Nichole: 5,700) - - - - - - - - - - (Roxy: 1,300)**

This would likely be the final time Nichole ever felt a little sorry for Roxy. Even as she glared at Nichole through bangs soiled with centipede-slime, it was hard not to.

But she was still going to do her best to beat her.

"Now Swords Woman's gonna finish you off!"

"Hold on there, Nikki," said Roxy, eliciting a sour frown from Nichole. "With Verdant Sanctuary in play, I can, once per turn, take an Insect from my deck that's the same Level as the one you just smashed." She paused, as a single card was fed out of the middle of her deck.

"Not gonna help you," said Nichole. Swords Woman lifted her weapon menacingly.

"But this will!" replied Roxy. Her Trap lifted, showing a rather comical image of White Magician Pikeru trading blows with Ebon Magician Curran.

"With this card, I can summon a monster with a Level that equals one of yours, so come on out, Insect Knight!"

There was a low, horrid droning, as a mantis-man descended from above, its wings furiously pounding. It landed, folding its wings but brandishing a long, serrated scimitar. (1,900 ATK)

"I set this card facedown and it's your move," said Nichole, glumly.

"Good girl," said Roxy. "I'll draw… and then my Insect Knight attacks your Sword Woman!"

The horrible buzz droned again as the Knight took to the air, then made a dive-bombing swoop at Swords Woman. There were two slashes of its scimitar, and the Amazoness shattered.

'So, how'd you like them - OW!" The scream of pain came as the result of Sword Woman's weapon darting down upon Roxy from above, embedding itself in the floor point first before it also shattered.

**(Nichole: 5,700) - - - - - - - - - - (Roxy: 900)**

"Sucker," said Nichole. "When Swords Woman loses a battle, I take no damage; _you _take it. And by the way," her Trap opened, and Swords Woman literally crawled from it, forcing herself up when she was all the way through. She was dirty, bruised, and had a bad wound in her side, but showed both anger and determination as she eyed Roxy and her Insect Knight. (1,500 ATK)

"Due to Amazoness Willpower, she's back and more eager to beat her foes down than ever!"

Roxy didn't speak to respond right away, setting a Monster. "I'll end using Insect Neglect," she finally said, a second Continuous Spell appearing next to Verdant Sanctuary.

**End of Interlude**

The three Shadowchasers took a little while to get their bearings and re-plan their methods, now that they had a Gnomish Upright Pulverizer Mach-3 (a designation for the device that they'd learn later). A quick and careful bit of probing revealed the limit of the invisibility effect; it was roughly a sphere about fifteen feet across centered on the Pulverizer, which it had to drop before doing anything more strenuous than walking; this was a well-known down-side of remedial invisibility spells. A second one was located on the far side of the room, where the command that had unleashed the automaton upon them had originated. The spheres were fixed in place, and only affected beings that moved into them; once they left the radius of the effect, the individual returned immediately to visibility.

The part that concerned them was that they could find no speaker, intercom, or other device that had given the command, which meant at least one of their foes - who was smart enough to speak gnomish - had been physically there to give it.

Nichole had escaped with only a few bruises. Indeed, her ribs had endured worse. While she'd had many close calls since joining the organization, memories of a Dark Naga who had tried to crush her often stood out. The treatment she had gotten in the hospital had been augmented with divine magic, and they seemed much stronger than before afterwards.

Meanwhile, Francis was experimenting with the translator, telling the Pulverizer to perform various actions to see just what its limits were, while Dugan was studying the map and planning their new approach.

"I think we can safely assume that the creepers and skulks know we're here, along with whoever is directing them. They're likely planning an ambush as we speak, if they're not watching us right now. With this invisibility effect, one could be standing right in front of us and we'd never even know it."

Everyone looked around cautiously at this revelation, but for now, it seemed to be a false alarm.

"Well, the one who _was _there isn't there _now," _added Nichole. "These creatures are good at sneak attacks but not much for a straight fight."

"That's all they need," Francis insisted. "Those tunnels are perfect for a surprise attack, and there's little we could do to react."

"On the other hand," continued Dugan "given how keen their ears likely are, _our _chances of surprising any of them is almost nonexistent."

"Especially if we bring this guy," said Francis. "Not exactly built with subtlety in mind."

"I'm not sure we can handle another fight," said Nichole. "I'm not as good at healing magic as Greg is, and I've got two elixirs left. After that, all I've got is a conventional first aid kit."

"I've got one potion left," said Francis, "so maybe it's time for a _different _approach, eh big guy?"

The Pulverizer's claw arm snapped in anticipation.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Trust.

Trust was a double-edged sword, one that could turn on you and be stabbed into your back when you least expected it. This was a truth that Monag understood all too well, given what he was, and what he did.

"Monag" was a name that had been given to him by a human whom he and five other creepers had worked for. Well, technically the human had kept them as slaves, and been a cruel master Three of the creepers didn't survive. Nonetheless, he and the other two convinced the human to trust them. That's how they managed to kill him and get the ritual that turned Monag into what he was now. Those other two creepers had trusted him too, a fatal mistake. He was the only one smart enough to know that the ritual would only work on _one _of them.

He was something called a dark stalker now, standing head and shoulders above the other creepers, the strongest, smartest, and most skilled among them. But he didn't trust them any more than they did him, and he trusted the skulks even less.

The fact was, he was worried and desperate, but he kept that fact well hidden from his minions. He'd always been wary of them, a wise precaution in any circumstances, but especially so given recent developments. Over the last few days, he's seen the way that the smaller creepers had looked at him, the furtive glances that seemed to be weighing their options, opportunities...

He did not blame them for that. In their circumstance, he would likely be doing the same thing.

Right now, he was in a darkened room - much like the others, he could see perfectly with no light - perusing a tome given to him by his "benefactor' as part of their payment. He stopped and turned slightly around. One of his minions was approaching.

The one creeper moved over to him, nimbly stepping over the broken pieces of glass and pottery that carelessly littered the floor. Of course, there was nothing "careless" about how they got there, but there was nothing to be done for it now.

The creeper looked up at him with hooded eyes, the rest of its face covered by the enfolding wrap of its cloak. Monag knew what it was thinking, knew it was trying to judge how far the sickness had progressed since their last meeting, but he refused to draw his own cloak closer around himself.

"Report," he demanded

He listened closely as the creeper detailed, in its soft, hissing language, how the latest assault on the three humans had gone sour, resulting in the intended victims managing to commandeer the device. Outwardly, Monag showed no reaction, but inside he cursed loudly.

He realized it was his fault; he should have realized the humans had a way to speak gnomish while exploring a _gnome city, _even an abandoned one. He turned towards his _other _guest in the room, a skulk who now truly deserved its name, cowering in a corner. _This _one's description of the intruders just a half hour earlier had been _worse _than useless, but even so, the stalker couldn't blame the skulk either. At least the shameless cowardice the things showed was something that could be counted on.

Monag turned back to his minion. "Tell the others not to engage, but to monitor the progress of the intruders and report back. We will meet them here and put an end to this meddling in a single blow."

The creeper nodded, an anticipatory gleam in its dark eyes as it bowed incrementally before dashing away into the darkness.

As the stalker watched it depart, he noticed two other creepers at the entrance, looking at him with the same evaluating stare as the other one, but Morag ignored them, already lost in the complex machinations of his thoughts.

He did not believe that the creepers were capable of outright betrayal, at least not now, with a crisis to deal with. Perhaps that would be an issue after these enemies were done away with, if he were left sufficiently weak. Still, Morag was too canny a veteran to lead such a group into battle - leading troops means turning your back to them. They were resenting him more than ever now, particularly so with the memory of the lesson he'd had to impart just a few days ago fresh in their minds.

He turned to a crate next to his desk, one which contained another, more recent part of his "payment". _There may yet be another way, _he thought.

A sound drew his attention, a metallic scrape that seemed to come from the direction of the gear-door in the south wall. His creepers and the skulks alike avoided all those odd doors, as the resetting traps and defensive wards placed on them by the original occupants of Jzadirune were still quite potent. Once Morag had discovered the Pulverizer, they'd been able to dig new tunnels to bypass the doors, making them moot.

The stalker pointed, and one of the creepers crept towards the door, careful not to touch it, leaning close against the wood to listen.

Suddenly there was a loud _CLANG!_ and the door shuddered visibly. Almost immediately, a dense cloud of cloying purplish smoke with a sour, acrid smell erupted from all around the threshold, engulfing the creeper and filling a good portion of the space directly in front of the door. Morag himself dove behind his desk, even though the smoke was clearly not spreading into the room, as the trap had been triggered from the outside. The noise continued, accompanied now by the sounds of splintering wood as the automation's drill bored through it.

_It would seem I underestimated these humans,_ the stalker thought grimly to himself. He watched as the creeper staggered out of the cloud, clearly having inhaled the acidic vapor. Its face twisted and blackened, its clothes - and skin beneath - burning from the foul gas. The creeper he'd sent just a few moments before was a little luckier, fleeing from the tunnel and dashing to an exit on the other side of the room.

Morag turned towards the skulk in the corner, who had already begun edging towards the same exit, freezing as its eyes met Morag's.

The dark stalker silently lifted a weapon from under the desk, a spear with a tip made of jet black, frictionless metal. The cloud was already beginning to clear.

His minions moved into position.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

On the other side of the door, the three Shadowchasers were watching from a safe distance, a good fifty feet behind the Pulverizer. The acidic gas ruined the automaton's paint job, but barely scarred the surface otherwise. The door itself finally collapsed into splinters of wood and shards of stone.

"Okay, they definitely know we're here NOW!" Francis exclaimed.

"Yes, I doubt this device was built with subtlety in mind," said Dugan with a nod, "but then, neither were battle tanks." He spoke into the translator again, "Enter and stand clear of the door." After using the translator to switch the command to gnomish, the device obeyed, and the trio cautiously followed it.

Francis noticed that the Pulverizer was making more noise than before as it walked. _Crap, _he thought, realizing that the acid may have damaged its interior more than they had assumed.

They followed it into the room, which had the appearance of a ruined laboratory or workshop. Crushed pottery and shards of glass littered the floor, and tables surmounted with the ruin of once-extensive glassworks, shelves, and miscellaneous apparatus were pushed up against the walls. Only one desk was intact. Also present was a short, squat, gnome-like figure, clad in a cloak that was a ruin of shredded fibers that barely hung together about him. Beady, hostile eyes met Francis' gaze; it let out a terrible screech as it drew a long dagger out from under its cloak.

Francis drew his sword to meet the attack, but an instant later, the shadows around the creature seemed to _thicken_, gathering about him into a cloak of darkness that obscured his target from view.

"Okay,_ this_ is a new trick."

"What's happening?" came Nichole's voice, from behind the door. Dugan's proteges tried to push through the ruin of the doorway, but the jagged remnants of the portal that remained in the threshold were slowing them down. Still, as light from Nichole's staff flooded the room, the shadow-cloaked creeper let out another angry cry. And the light revealed another short, cloaked figure who stepped out from the adjacent wall near the tunnel mouth to the left, right behind Francis.

"LOOK OUT!" screamed Nichole.

Too late. Even as he shouted, the creeper slipped up behind the muscular Shadowchaser and thrust his long knife into his side. The attack was devastating, but remarkably, Francis managed to keep from screaming - or passing out. He had trained himself to withstand pain - seeing as the berserk transformation was _excruciating _at best - but even so, _THAT HURT. _He limped to the side, and the creeper cackled gleefully, its dagger slick with blood along its entire length. The acid-burned one - who was badly hurt himself, but still standing - moved to help its ally, attempting to flank Francis with its own weapon.

Nichole switched her staff to her right hand and drew her own weapon with her right one. But as she prepared to come to Francis' aid, she was stopped short as a crossbow bolt lanced out from the right, embedding in the floor mere inches from her foot. She held the staff out in that direction, revealing a familiar tall form, its pale skin rippling with color to match the wall behind, already reloading for another shot.

"Skulk!" she cried out in warning. Dugan managed to aim from behind her and fired, but the hasty shot went wide and struck a shelf beside the skulk, smashing a clay jar into a hundred fragments.

As if in response, another shadow on the other side of the shelf started to form, the light from Nichole's staff unable to penetrate its darkness as it started forward toward the two Shadowchasers.

And this was going to get worse before it got better.

The light Nichole's staff did not reach as far as the back of the room, leaving it a maze of deep shadows. From that direction a clear, angry voice filled the room. "_Telath nur zyg'zet!_"

And in response, the Pulverizer, standing forgotten in the middle of the room, turned toward the dwarf, its drill-hands beginning once more to spin with their grinding cadence.

"Stop!" Dugan shouted, forgetting, for a moment, that he had to say it in gnomish. As the robot started to lift its arm, he fumbled with the translator, barely managing to hit the blue button, state the command again, and then hit the red one. "_Neth!_"

The automaton hesitated and shuddered. Obviously, what little intelligence it had been given was not enough to make sense out of conflicting orders. It creaked and groaned, then just stopped, lowering its arms, and electing to do nothing. "Shit," Dugan growled. He stuffed the device in his jacket's inner pocket, then twisted the haft of his gun, increasing the setting by two. _This is gonna be ugly, _he thought.

From the back of the room came another command, spoken in a tongue that was rough and guttural, like pebbles being ground together. Francis didn't need a translator for this one, it was a language he had learned from some dwarven revelers he associated with. It was "under-speak", a language used by subterranean races of Shadowkind for diplomacy purposes. While he was no expert, he quickly discerned that the order given was something along the lines of _"Kill the female!" _

"Over my dead body!" he shouted back in challenge, sweeping his sword violently with both hands, despite the grievous wound in his side. He assaulted the creeper in front of him, slashing through the front of its cloak. The creeper staggered a foot backward, seemingly surprised by the human's sudden resolve. It backed up, summoning the magical shadow-cloak that protected its fellows before coming in again, its still blood-stained knife darting in and out of the dark shroud at the angry Shadowchaser. Meanwhile, the injured creeper came up on Nichole from behind, seeking another weakness that it could exploit with a devastating sneak attack. Its knife came back, then darted forward…

Out of the corner of her eye, Nichole noticed it and screamed…

But _not _a scream of fear or anger...

**Interlude**

Drawing a card, Nichole now had two to work with, Amazoness Queen and Amazoness Paladin.

_Okay, she thought, if I traded in Fighter to summon Queen, I could attack Insect Knight and bring Roxy down to only 400 Life Points. On the other hand, if I took a chance and summoned Paladin, I could take down those two monsters and then take _her _down. _

_But, one of them is a set monster… _She stopped and looked closely at the card that hid the monster from her. _And since she uses Insects, it could be Man-Eater Bug, or 4-Star Ladybug of Doom, or __Electromagnetic Bagworm, or…_

"Yo! What's the holdup?" Roxy's loud voice nearly broke her train of thought, and she simply replied, "Keep your pants on, okay?

_What little there is of them, _she thought. _Yeah, okay, don't freak out here, Nichole. Yeah, there are a lot of nasty Insect Flip Monsters, but I never got where I am now by playing it safe!_

"I summon Amazoness Paladin!"

The Amazon that leapt from the card this time had an outfit that was just as skimpy, but with a noticeably different style. A long, ragged cloak and hood partially covered her flowing blonde hair, the hood held in place by a laurel crown. The cape, along with her bikini top and skirt, were all white and adorned with purple feathers. (1,700 ATK)

"And she gains 100 Points for every Amazoness I have!" (2,000 ATK) Just enough to squish that big bug!"

As Paladin drew her sword and made a rush for Insect Knight a strange, glowing, cage made of pure energy surrounded the Insect, causing the Warrior's sword to bounce off.

Nichole's head turned to Roxy, who was holding up Hundred Footed Horror's card. "Insect Neglect's effect, dear. All I have to do is banish one Insect from my Graveyard to halt your attack."

This marked another moment where Nichole's opinion of Roxy changed, as she disposed of the card by placing it in her cleavage, causing a lot of wolf whistles from the crowd. She started to wonder just how much of Roxy's outfit was actual cosplaying. But for now, she was going to finish the duel.

"I'll just have to make you use them up then. Swords Woman, destroy her set monster!"

Nichole clearly saw Roxy's evil smile as Swords Woman complied, but it was too late. A cricket-like bug appeared on the card, right before it was sliced in half.

"You've done it now!" said Roxy. "Pinch Hopper's death lets me summon any Insect at all from my hand!"

"The Level 7 Insect you got with Verdant Sanctuary," said Nichole with a gulp, as it sank in. But she gulped even louder as the shadow of a huge, multi-legged behemoth crept over her.

This was the first time she had _ever _seen Insect Queen up close, and it would give her nightmares for months...

**End of Interlude**

At the sound of Nichole's scream, the creeper stopped with a dazed expression on its face, and simply stood there, wavering. For several long seconds it hesitated, doing nothing, before it finally shook its head, clearing it of the mental fog that had descended upon it.

Right in time to see Nichole's boot before it slammed into its face.

Although, as the creeper collapsed, Nichole was almost dumbstruck. That scream… it was a turning point in her career, and she felt both pride and disappointment. Pride that she had advanced beyond beginner-level divine magic, and disappointment that neither Gregory nor Donnie was here to see it.

The noise from Dugan's blunderbuss snapped her out of her trance. She saw the skulk with the crossbow and skid towards the wall from the impact, while Francis finally managed to grab the third creeper and belt it hard in the face. He turned and gave a thumbs up to Dugan and Nichole.

Suddenly, out of the darkness, a long shaft came slicing directly toward her. Somehow instinct took over, and Nichole hurled herself aside, the spear narrowly missing her before it slammed hard into the surviving jam of the door. Her heart pounding in her chest at the close call—she had no doubt that the missile would have killed her, had it struck her unawares—until it became obvious that this weapon had been thrown with a different purpose in mind.

A globe of pure blackness, darker even than the shadows beyond the radius of the torchlight, exploded from where the javelin had hit. It was like a thick, choking fog, almost like smoke.

"Nichole! Are you all right?"

She turned briefly, trying to see Francis, but as the magical darkness became even thicker, she barely saw someone else, a gleaming knife - still stained with Francis' blood the only clearly discernible part of its form...

**Interlude**

One theory about the human psyche says it can be divided into "Reason" and "Emotion".

Looking up at Insect Queen, Nichole's Emotion side reacted first, giving her the notion that the giant _thing _looming over her now was a giant spider.

Of course, this was where her Reason side - which always tended to lecture at the most inappropriate times - reminded her that insects had six legs and three body segments (like this monster had), while spiders had eight legs and only two segments. This creature also had antennae and wings, which insects often had, but spiders _never _have. Ergo, this monster was an Insect.

But both Reason and Emotion agreed that whatever its biological classification, it was a _hideous _thing that meant her no good.

Its face looked vaguely human, but hairless with fangs and eyes that were completely blue, without irises or pupils. Its thorax (one of those body segments her Reason had mentioned) was shaped in a way that suggested female mammaries. And the whole thing was huge, bloated, and hulking. Nichole had no idea at first whether this thing the Solid Vision depicted was supposed to be a sapient being or a mindless and savage predator.

That is, until a roar from Insect Queen shook the whole auditorium, all but confirming the latter possibility. (2,200 ATK)

"Impressive, isn't it?" asked Roxy. "Now, before this goes any further, I'll bring up one of Insect Queen's effects. For every Insect on the field, herself included, she gains another 100 points." (2,400 ATK)

Then Insect Queen turned to look at Insect Queen, eyeing it hungrily, drooling in anticipation.

"Anyone here with weak stomachs might want to look away, because this is the part where it gets squicky. See, before she can chow on the enemy, she needs an appetizer for motivation."

The Queen bore down on the much smaller Insect, grabbing it and lifting it to her jaws. What happened next _was _rather morbid; it was bad enough that Nichole had to watch Insect Knight be devoured, but Insect Queen was _not _much for social etiquette, making noisy chewing sounds as she did so. When finished, she drooled as she looked at Nichole and her Amazons, eager for the second course.

"Patience, Your Majesty," assured Roxy. "I won't be attacking with her right away, Nichole, know why? First I'll use Monster Reborn to bring back this guy."

The golden holy ankh appeared, causing Insect Knight to appear again. (1,900 ATK) It looked nervously at Insect Queen for a moment, but she seemed to have lost interest in it for now.

"Next I'm using my Parasite Paranoid!"

Nichole was expecting Roxy to summon some other huge bug, but to her surprise, Roxy placed the card in her Spell Zone and a monster appeared that wasn't very big at all, about the size of a cat, but far uglier. The general shape seemed to be an unholy cross between a scorpion and octopus, with a dull blue exoskeleton covered with orange splotches. It had two tentacles that suggested arms, and a third one on the rear with a barb, suggesting a tail.

"Meet my Parasite Paranoid!"

"Wait, wait, you didn't even set that!" asked Nichole, looking at it curiously but cautiously.

"I said 'paranoid', not 'paraside', this is a different strain of the species. One advantage it has over Paraside is I don't have to summon it at all in order for it to infect one of your monsters!"

At that, Parasite Paranoid lept at Swords Woman like a pouncing wolf, grabbing her by the torso and wrapping the front two tendrils around her waist. She grunted and struggled, then screamed as the barb on the third tendril stabbed into the base of her spine. Then it got worse. Similar tendrils sprouted from her mouth and ears, and then from gaping wounds in her torso and legs. The screams from members of the audience confirmed that Roxy's warning to them had not been heeded.

"What did you do?" demanded Nichole.

"I could explain, but there's a lot of biology involved. Suffice to say, Paranoid changes its host's type to Insect, and prevents it from attacking other Insects.

"However, seeing as Sword Woman doesn't seem all too happy about it, I'll make this quick. With the Spell Card, Cocoon of Ultimate Evolution!"

Playing the Spell caused a mass of sticky strands to shoot from it, grabbing Swords Woman and wrapping around her while pulling her towards Roxy's side of the field.

"This is really creepy," said Nichole, somehow unable to look away due to a morbid sort of curiosity.

"Oh, it gets better," said Roxy. "Since Swords Woman's Type is now Insect and she has an Equip Spell - well, a Monster treated as one - I can Tribute her to summon any Insect from my deck I want."

Swords Woman was now totally cocooned, and what little movement there had been stopped for a few brief seconds, before starting again. Something was trying to rip free of it, something that seemed far larger, stronger, and more vicious.

"That right, even an Insect with _special _summoning conditions."

A huge insectoid leg burst free of the cocoon, then a large wing, then Nichole saw an eye peer out…

_Dear God… _she thought.

**End of Interlude**

"Nichole!"

Both Francis and Dugan realized what was happening as they saw Nichole's eyes shift and realized what it signified even as she dropped the staff and leapt to the side, out of the doorway. She felt the hot pain explode in her back even as she started to move and knew that she'd been too late to react. Instead of dropping into a smooth roll that would have brought her back to her feet, she landed hard, sprawled on the stone, the impact launching a new wave of agony through her lower torso. She tried to order herself to stand up, but the pain fought her, freezing her muscles and slowing her movements. She did manage to pull herself up enough to look behind her, enough to see the creeper coming for her again, its features obscured in shadow, its knife wet with her blood.

She could _hear _it better than she could see it. A mad, evil cackle like some vile hyena…

Dugan and Francis were caught up in their own struggles as the battle in the chamber raged on. One of the creepers was out cold, so Francis focused on another. Even with the knife wound, he was stronger and deadlier than the creeper, but its magical shadow-cloak made it difficult to pin its location down in the poor light. Already two swings with his blade had failed to land, smashing only through empty shadows. The creeper was a canny opponent, darting in and out of his reach, oftentimes leaping out of the shadows to strike with its knife. Fortunately, it seemed unable to do so while concealed, but how much longer could Francis avoid them?

Dugan, meanwhile, had faced his adversary far more pragmatically. He had height and reach over the smaller creeper, and the blunt side of his enchanted rifle made an adequate bludgeon with more reach than creeper's dagger. Even so, the creeper's shadow-cloak gave it a significant edge, one that it used to full advantage.

And the creeper wasn't alone.

Out of yet another shadowy veil behind Dugan, another creeper appeared to flank Dugan stabbing him in the upper leg, leaving a shallow but painful wound. Dugan snarled and swung in the creeper's general direction; this time he hit something solid, but the creeper darted back, not hurt seriously if it had been at all. Dugan grit his teeth in determination, took a step after it, but staggered as a crossbow bolt from the skulk caught him solidly in the shoulder.

"Aargh!" he cried in pain. The creeper cackled and leapt forward, Dugan cursed and, in desperation, swung the rifle blindly. He felt a solid impact this time, but it took him several long seconds to realize that the shadows in front of him had stopped moving, and that a dark form lay huddled at his feet.

Nichole struggled to get her injured body to obey her, praying she could get up before the creeper struck again. It looked like a race that she was doomed to lose, but then, she saw a tall form rise behind the creeper, and leap at it.

"Stay away from her!" roared Francis. He'd torn off his jacket (which was pretty much ruined by now as it was), and swept it out over the creeper's head, catching it up in the folds of the garment. The creeper hissed and struggled, tearing a long rent in the heavy fabric with its sharp knife, wrenching itself free.

"I'll kill you," it hissed, to which Francis replied by cracking his knuckles and saying, "Bring it on."

Nichole was not idle with the time that her friend had bought her. She dug into the fanny-pack on her belt and found one of the two remaining elixirs she had mentioned, snapped off the stopper and downed its contents in one gulp. She felt as if she had just stepped into a cold shower, with invigorating, soothing water washing away the pain and weakness she'd felt. Leaping up, she recovered her sword and charged at the creeper from the side. With its attention distracted between her and Francis, the creeper was just a heartbeat slow to react, a heartbeat that cost it as Nichole thrust the full length of her sword into its side. The creeper let out a strangled hiss as it stiffened, and fell to the floor, then exploded in the now-familiar burst of light. Its weapon - the same dagger it had used to stab Francis _and _Nichole - fell on the floor with a clatter.

Dugan seemed to be slowing as he held his bleeding leg, while the creeper cowering in front of him, encouraged by the fact that the human hadn't attempted a second assault, leapt up and continued to dart in and around him, seeking an opening. Finally, the blunt end of the blunderbuss swung in a wide arc that soared over the creeper's head, and it gleefully lunged underneath to strike a finishing blow to Dugan's gizzard.

That was a mistake.

Abruptly, Dugan's swing shifted, reversing and thrusting the blunt side down and into the center of the shifting mass of shadows that was rushing towards him. The nimble creature tried to dodge, but its own momentum worked against it, and the metal butt of the gun slammed down on the crown of its head with enough force to crush bone. The creeper fell on its face, its defensive screen of darkness dissolving into wisps of black that quickly faded, still struggling as it tried to get up, to get away.

It failed on both counts, as Dugan's boot crashed down on its skull; the creeper collapsed and did not rise again.

The skulk, meanwhile, seeing how the battle was turning, and having gotten no further response from the dark stalker since the spear had created the magical darkness - a spell whose power was now all-but spent - decided that discretion might, in this case, be the better part of valor. Following the curve of the wall, it started backing toward the doorway in the back of the room, holding its loaded crossbow before its face like a shield.

It didn't get far, however, as the crossbow didn't work very well as a shield. At least not when Dugan spied him, pointed the business end of his gun at it and fired, hitting the skulk in the gut. Combined with the previous hit it had already taken, this was far too much for the cowardly creature to take. Dropping the crossbow, it fell hard against a table, sending more crockery spilling onto the ground with a cacophony of crashing sounds. Pulling itself up through a titanic effort, it tried desperately to get away, ignoring the painful scratches to its feet as it stumbled over the broken glass and pottery shards that littered the floor.

It made for the darkness, and the relative sanctuary that it offered, but came up short as Francis punched it in the back of the head.

The skulk slumped to the ground, beaten. Francis shook his head and sighed.

**Interlude**

Perfectly Ultimate Great Moth.

It had always had a higher Attack Score than any other Insect, and one of the hardest of any Type of monster to summon. It was a three-card combo that took _six _full turns to pull off.

Roxy had done it in only one turn. As scared as she was, Nichole couldn't help but be a little impressed. (3,500 ATK)

"One more thing before we get down to business here," continued Roxy. "Cocoon of Ultimate Evolution has one other effect. By banishing it from my Graveyard, I can draw once."

Disposing of the card the same way she had the other one, she did just that. "Mmm, not the best, but good enough. I summon Neo Bug!"

The new Insect was as large as Insect Knight, but not humanoid, and was nasty, with mandibles the size of swords, a scorpion-like stinger, and beating, buzzing wings. (1,800 ATK)

"Time to finish this! Insect Knight, take care of Ms. Muscles first!"

Amazoness Fighter stood her ground angrily as the Knight advanced, but it was futile. Another two slashes later, and she was gone.

"Without her, Paladin only benefits from _one _Amazoness, meaning she's toast."

Neo Bug lifted from the ground, flying towards Paladin, who drew her sword and dashed to meet the attack. She swung left, the Bug slashed right, and both monsters were blasted to particles.

"Now for you…" she looked at Nichole, and for a brief second, Nichole could swear Roxy's eyes had turned hellish and inhuman…

"Insect Queen, Ultimate Moth! Dual Hell Tornado!"

Like two missiles of burning, blazing energy, the attacks of the two giant Insects homed in on Nichole. She screamed loudly...

**(Nichole: 0) - - - - - - - - - - (Roxy: 1,100)**

**End of Interlude**

The three Shadowchasers had won that fight, but the term "pyrrhic victory" seemed very appropriate now.

Bleeding, bruised, battered and exhausted, they had gathered wearily in a small chamber adjacent to the room where they had battled the creepers. The room had been sealed by one of the gnome doors, but the automaton had made short work of it after surviving the blast of flames triggered by the door's magical trap. It was now obvious why the divine message had told them to _beware _the doors with teeth. Simply getting it to follow its orders to do that had required Dugan to use his personal knowledge of the gnomish tongue, which was rusty to begin with. He had found out the hard way that another enemy had been present during that battle, one that somehow managed to pick his pocket and steal the translator. Along with his wallet, something he figured was their way of flipping them off.

The skulk prisoner was on the floor where all of them could see it, a defeated look on its ugly face. The Pulverizer automaton itself was in the corner, motionless for now. Despite being seriously damaged and likely running low on fuel (whatever it used for fuel), it was still a potentially potent weapon.

Meaning, they did not want to risk the creepers reclaiming such a weapon once they abandoned it. Even if they could have repaired it, controlling it was now more difficult, as Dugan

They'd been weakened, and their resources were all but depleted. While Nichole had been - and still was - proud of herself for managing a spell that likely saved their lives, it had put a drain upon her mental prowess that she was feeling now. Nichole was the one who had to clean and bandage Francis and Dugan's wounds, having used their last two elixirs on herself; simply so the pain from her own injuries wouldn't hinder her. She wouldn't be using healing magic anymore today; her last osiron had been used to stabilize the skulk and keep it from dying. She and her two friends had not been pleased about that, but they needed answers, and none of them felt particularly like seeking out and challenging the mysterious leader of the creepers that had fled after throwing that javelin. Particularly not after the skulk had given them a description of the creature, the "stalker" named Morag.

"OW!" cursed Francis.

"It's just iodine, you big baby," scolded Nichole. "This could have been a lot worse. We were lucky that 'stalker' guy didn't stick around."

"Yeah, lucky us. OW! So, what do we do with _him?"_

He was, of course, referring to the skulk. Dugan - who had the best reason to be angry at the creature by now, put his weapon down and then took hold of the creature by the collar, looking in the eye while speaking forcefully.

"Listen, you pathetic piece of garbage and listen good," he snarled, channeling the U.S. Marine Major he used to be as best he could. "Your reprieve is going to be _very_ short unless you decide to cooperate, so spill your guts before I spill them for you."

The skulk replied by spitting him in his face. Dugan was about to break the skulk's neck, but then shook his head and dropped the creature on the floor. "You ain't worth it," he grumbled.

The skulk looked up at Nichole, its eyes on her pendant. Then it hissed, "If you swear upon your gods to set me free, I tell you everything."

Nichole looked it square in the eye with a stern look but said nothing for about a minute. She clenched her fist, then slowly relaxed it, counted to ten in her head, then cleared her throat.

That spell she had managed to cast was proof that, most members of the House would agree, you were a true representative of St. Cuthbert, and now was the first time she'd have to act like one.

She said, as formally as she could, "As our need is great and our time is short, we accept your terms. I swear upon the Cudgel of Cuthbert." Then she grabbed the skulk and lifted him up to _her _eye level, while switching to her normal - angrier - voice and added, "But if you're lying to us, buster, I'm gonna find my own cudgel and cave your skull in with it, understand?"

The trembling skull nodded, and she dropped it._** "Well?" **_she demanded.

They didn't need to persuade it more as the skulk had, for now, lost any motivation to dissemble. It spoke quickly, incorporating some words in Undercommon that Francis did his best to translate for the rest of them. They learned that the first skulk captive they'd taken had indeed misled them, directing them here to the lair of the stalker and its creeper minions rather than to the true location of the lift that provided access to the Malachite Fortress below.

"Huh," said Francis. "You know, we could have avoided all this had we brought that last skulk with us instead of nailing it to that door."

Of course, they had done nothing of the sort, but nobody had told the skulk that. It squealed in fear, cowering with its arms. "Keep talking," ordered Nichole, "this is getting interesting."

The skulk stammered and shivered for a minute before its words became clear again, revealing the rest of what it knew. The children, along with a number of other captives stolen from the city by the skulks and their creeper allies, were being held by a "mongrel dwarf half-breed" —the skulk could not give more details—who commanded a significant force of hobgoblin renegades in the citadel deep underground. (Dugan's brow furrowed at this revelation.) Apparently, this creature and its followers were the ultimate driving force behind the abductions in Cauldron, selling the captives to foul merchants who the skulks and creepers only saw briefly, if at all.

"Hobgoblins now," said Dugan, gravely. He'd known many hobgoblins from his time in the service; unlike orcs and goblins, they took well to military-style discipline and worked well in groups, making them excellent soldiers. That was, of course, a good thing if they were on your side, but a horrible thing if they were the enemy.

"This has to end, but if we're going into a whole platoon of hobgoblin mercenaries, we need a new approach."

"So then, we're going to go get help?" asked Francis.

"You can badger us with 'I told you so' later," said Dugan, "but going down there right now would be suicide. We have to regroup and pray we can get back here in time." He motioned to the skulk. "Bring him, we're not going to risk him telling his boss anything."

"GET UP," demanded Francis, pulling the skulk to his feet.

"You promise," it said. "You swear."

"Certainly," Nichole said. "I always keep my word, and once we let you go by turning you over to Cauldron's authorities, I'll have kept it. Now MOVE."

The skulk whimpered but offered no resistance as they gathered up their gear and set out once again. In the opposite direction.

From out of the shadows - not ten feet away from where Dugan had been - Morag the dark stalker stepped out, chuckling softly. He was holding the translator device and Dugan's wallet. He shifted the latter to his left hand, then focused his eyes on the device. His hand became enshrouded in shadow, as the enchantment from it drained, causing it to corrode and, after a few seconds, turn to dust.

He felt slightly better now, but he'd need far more than _that _to truly cure himself. He looked briefly at the wallet, then placed it in a pocket within his coat.

After all, he had _every _intention of returning it when those humans came back...

**Interlude**

Nichole slowly sat up; the wind having been knocked out of her by the dual direct attacks. Her vision was blurry, and for a moment, she could swear she saw Insect Queen looming over her, hungrily salivating like a spider about to feast on a fly…

But her vision cleared, changing what she saw to Roxy, offering a hand. "Hey, sport, you okay? We were worried for a minute."

Nichole took the hand, but as she did so, she saw the tattoo on Roxy's arm - for a tattoo it was - that she now recognized. A dragon. The mark of the Blue Serpents. She was one of them.

Had she revealed it by accident or on purpose to scare her? She never figured that out, but it was clear now what Roxy had meant by having "friends in common".

"Guess history repeats itself, right?" said Roxy. "Aw, just kidding."

"Nichole?" said Gregory's voice.

"Congratulations, Roxy," said Nichole. She offered her hand, although her tone didn't match her words. As they shook, she knew, almost instinctively, that she had made a rival; the Trap Card Roxy had used could not have been more ironic.

"Great, let's do this again sometime," said Roxy in a cheery voice. "Smell ya later."

"You okay?" asked Greg.

He gave his protege a friendly hug, even as Nichole watched Roxy exit the auditorium.

Her blood ran cold….

**End of Interlude**

A soft patter of rain, just a drizzle, really, could be heard against the sides of the house and the shuttered windows, the sound broken occasionally by a cold blast of wind gusting by.

Only a faint sliver of light made it through the narrow slats in the drawn shutters, but more light was provided by a gas lamp on one of the side tables and several herbal candles giving off strong odors of incense and saffron. The scent gave everyone in the room a warm and invigorating feeling, and for the three injured Shadowchasers, relief as the candles' divine healing power worked through them.

Six people had gathered in the center of the chamber in Ghelve's Locks, standing in a circle near the partly adjacent portal that led down to Jzadirune. Seven, if you counted the prisoner, the skulk kneeling on the floor under the watchful gaze of Acolyte Havan, who was prepared to stomp on it with her strong front hoof if it made any sudden moves.

"And so, we returned here, but only to renew our supplies and possibly gain reinforcements, before we headed back to confront this slaver and his gang," Dugan explained. "Time is of the essence, if not up already."

Jenya Urikas nodded, the lamplight highlighting the determination written clearly on her features. "You did admirable Mr. Dugan, all of you. When your message arrived, we came as quickly as we could, though not, I regret, quickly enough to give you more aid. We took Mr. Ghelve into custody; the locksmith, it seems, was no longer inclined to hide the truth, and he confessed quickly."

"So, what's going to happen to him?" asked Nichole.

"He will have to stand trial, as an accomplice," Jenya said. "There were mitigating circumstances in his case, it seems, and clear coercion, but his actions still had very serious consequences."

"Hopefully we can find someone he can rat on," said Francis. Despite having been the one who argued against going unprepared, he seemed eager to start again, if only for revenge against these creatures.

"We have more important things to deal with now," said Dugan. He stood up, shaking his leg slightly. The knife wound seemed almost gone now, as did the one on Francis. Nichole had taken it worse, but it seemed to be getting better by the minute.

"You've done the city a great service," Jenya said. "But this is a matter beyond the mandate I set for you. By nightfall I can have a fully armed patrol of the city Guard here, along with our allies in the churches of Kord and Pelor, in addition to our own forces. We will launch a raid that will teach these... these _vermin_ that would trade in children a lesson..."

"I don't know if we _have _until nightfall," said Dugan. "I was... I was reluctant to admit it at first, but I've become convinced that there is an urgency here. It's obvious by now that these traffickers have some way to leave that bypasses Cauldron itself, and they may already be escaping with their captives while we speak. And if we return with an overwhelming force, this dwarf-creature and his followers may elect to kill their captives and flee to God knows where before we can stop them. It may already be too late…"

"It is not. You have until 7:52 PM, tonight."

Startled by the voice, they were even more startled as the red curtain leading to the front of the shop parted, and two men stepped into the room. Their appearance was a surprise, since none of them had heard the bell on the front door, or their footfalls as they entered the front of the shop.

Both were obviously Shadowkind. One of them was unmistakably an elf, tall, beanpole-thin, wearing a long coat over an old-fashioned waistcoat, trousers, and a wide-brimmed hat. His flesh was of a pale, silvery color, his hair was a darker shade of the same color, and his eyes… well, his eyes were a pale, icy shade of blue.

His companion was taller, more muscular, and completely bald, with a very strong jaw. He had skin that was both the color and consistency of granite. He wore overalls over a flannel shirt, no shoes, and carried a duffle bag.

Later, the three Shadowchasers would confirm that the first man was a moon elf and the muscular man an earth genasi, two relatively rare races of Shadow. _Now, _however, their entrance caused Francis and Nichole to draw their swords, Dugan to ready his gun, and holy fire to appear in Jenya and Gregory's hands as they readied offensive magic.

"At ease, Mr. Dugan," said the elf, "we are not foes. Yet." Despite his words, the posture of him and the genasi seemed to be that of someone very prepared to spring. Whether that meant he intended to attack or flee, it was hard to say.

"Who are you?" demand Dugan. His hand tightened on the weapon.

"Wait, wait," interrupted Francis. "Aren't you the guy who shoved past us when we got here this morning."

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Mils, I believe I came for the same reason you did. Seems my mistake was not being, shall we say, _persuasive _enough with the locksmith. My card."

He snapped his fingers, and to their shock, six business cards appeared hovering in the air in front of them.

Dugan lowered the gun - this man was likely a wizard, and he knew such men had little reason to fear it - and took the card in front of him.

Professor Lawrence Fawley

Telemancer and Adept of Apportation

Chairman of Transmutation

Colfer Magical Academy of Cauldron

"Professor?" asked Nichole.

_Apportation? _Thought Dugan. _What in the world?_

"HEY!" exclaimed Illewyn. "You're the one who wrote that essay on Slaricen thaumancy runes!"

"I don't like to brag, but -" started the moon elf.

"AHEM," interrupted Jenya. "This is hardly the time, everyone." She looked squarely at Fawley. "What do you want?"

"To offer our assistance," replied the Professor. "You see, you aren't the only ones with a stake in this crisis. Four of the Academy's students were also abducted, one of them a student teacher. Naturally, they were AWOL at the time, and likely drinking more than they should have, but nonetheless -"

"Wait, hold it," said Nichole. "It was farfetched enough to learn that traffickers had actually broken into an orphanage and kidnapped children, but students at an academy?"

"Indeed, such actions are taken only by traffickers with low intelligence, astronomical funding and connections, or both. I have reason to believe _these _slavers do indeed have both, along with access to powerful - yet unstable - magic. Notably, the Malachite Fortress itself."

"Wait," started Dugan, "what's so special about this fortress?"

"I could explain and fully intend to, but as you know, time is short. Perhaps I could do so on the way?"

"One minute," said Jenya.

Everyone moved to the far side of the room as Fawley and his assistant backed to the red curtain.

"Well, should we trust them?" asked Dugan.

"Hard to say," said Francis. "Having a wizard with us might be an advantage but having to _fight _one would be _much _worse."

"Not sure why some academic bigwig would actually be an accomplice to something like this," suggested Nichole.

"Unless his goal is to eliminate the witnesses," added Dugan.

Everyone looked at Gregory, who had been quiet up to now.

"Hmm, this is a quandary," he said. "On one hand, if he's lying and we accept his help, we're further putting the lives of the captives at risk. On the other hand, if he's being truthful and we refuse his help, we'd be putting even more innocents at risk, and would be giving up a potentially powerful ally."

"And in this town, we need all the allies we can get right now," said Nichole.

"I would advise trusting them, but not fully," said Jenya. "But this is your mission, so the final decision is yours."

Dugan nodded, then turned to Fawley. "Okay, Professor, you can come with us."

"Splendid," he replied, then spoke to the genasi. "Mr. Nacht, I assume you have everything?" The larger Shadow nodded, lifting the duffel slightly.

"Very well," said Jenya. ""Illewyn, II need you to help raise support from the churches, while I go speak with the Council and the Guard. Gregory, take this _wretch_," she indicated the skulk, "back to the temple, and see that he is securely held."

"I swore an oath to him," said Nichole, frowning, still regretting doing so, somewhat.

"I know, Acolyte Belvins," Jenya said. "I promise he will not be harmed, until this is over, and we can determine what to do with him."

Nichole froze, the word "Acolyte" being the word that stood out in that sentence. It was rare that anyone at St. Cuthbert's House ever addressed her using a title; in fact, it had happened _twice _in her life, and both times the title was "Initiate". It wasn't a big deal, but this comment excited her to the point that it was a struggle simply to keep from squealing with joy.

Jenya continued, as she unfastened her belt pouch. "I wish I'd thought to bring more from the temple stores," she said, "but take these, in any case." She handed out six glass vials, healing potions, one for each of them. Then, to Nichole, she presented a slender wand of polished wood carved with hundreds of tiny etched symbols. "This wand's spell is only of the sort designed to treat light injuries, and is not fully charged, but use it to aid your cause." Nichole solemnly nodded and placed it carefully in her own pouch.

Illewyn came forward and gave Nichole a friendly clout on the shoulder. "Good luck," he said. "And watch your back."

"So, looks like it's back into the maw of danger for us," Francis said, thought feeling far more confident as he said it. "Let's get going."

"Honor and Glory of St. Cuthbert shine the light of your guidance upon these brave travelers," Jenya said, holding her pendant aloft briefly as she laid a blessing upon them. Each of the four felt the divine energy course through them, dispelling doubt and reinforcing their resolve.

Then on her own she added, "Good luck."

The three Shadowchasers and two new allies nodded and turned toward the secret door.

_Next chapter: Well, likely a short one, as the three Shadowchasers must get the rundown on what's really happening from the self-titled Adept of Apportations. And just what the devil IS an "Apportation"? _

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_Be there or be square. And stay safe. _

_But before you leave, it's time to again visit Madca's Troupe, with…_

**Shadowchaser Files:**

**Sillesia the Snake Dancer**

(As always, the Chant of this odd individual is compiled by my college Chester Chaun whose words should, again, be viewed with skepticism but not to the point that you become willingly ignorant. Chester sometimes has a valid point when reporting his findings.)

There's something about snakes. Some are dangerous, all are feared, and many believe them to be servants of evil. But evil can often be alluring and seductive, from mythical enchantresses like Medea and Circe to modern icons of villainy like Shego and Catherine Tramell, things regarded as evil can be sultry and seductive. Two words I would fondly apply to Sillesia the Snake Dancer, possibly the most popular - and profitable - of the Troupe's attractions.

If you find her performing at any given carnival (check any the areas where an ID is required to prove you're 18) prepare to be mesmerized. While usually advertised as a belly dancer, I do think she incorporates some elements of salsa and samba into her routine. Not that most customers are concerned with specifics. Whether Mundane or Aware, Sillesia is a lovely creature with near-perfect curves, wavy blonde hair, and enchanting green eyes that could themselves hold anyone watching in an enraptured trance. Her costume - if you could call it that - consists mostly of golden ornaments and chains, just enough to conceal what she doesn't want seen. Her snake helps in that too.

Yes, the snake. It's not unheard of for a belly dancer to use a live snake as a prop, but this one is an Ariant Rock Python, a type of Shadowkind wildlife. Ariant rock pythons are curiously both venomous snakes _and _constrictor snakes. Some herpetologists who study such Shadowkind have theorized that Ariant is some place on the World of Shadow where the ecosystem is _so _brutal that this breed developed - through natural selection - a type of "plan B" it could use if its venom failed to subdue prey.

Of course, you didn't come here to read about biology. Sillesia often uses other snakes in her act like asps and cobras. All these reptiles are notorious for their lethal toxins, but there is one other thing that makes Sillesia different from other performers who use snakes: these snakes are _not _defanged. This is a lesson that will be learned by anyone who attempts to violate one of the most rudimentary rules set by exotic dancers - you can gawk all you want, but _do not touch! _She has some antitoxin should anyone does, but never needs it herself. She handles and controls these lethal predators without fear.

How? Well, there are rumors that the Ariant python is a demon who has this poor elven lass under some sort of spell, but the truth is even stranger: _she is a snake herself._

**The Chant of Sillesia: **Of course, Sillesia was never a _normal _serpent by any means. Originally, she was an asp familiar summoned by a wizard named Alyosha Drumer. (Yeah, I know, wizards always get the coolest names.) Anyway, if you were to look through the mugshots at Shadowchaser Headquarters, you'd find him eventually. I think he's currently wanted for performing illegal magical and scientific experiments, along with cruelty to animals, often the victims of said experiments.

Now, he had an assistant who currently calls himself Tonogul (and I should probably use this time to thank him, as he provided quite a bit of information on Sillesia and many other individuals for these files; in any case, I won't be revealing his real name here). Tonogul often objected to many of his boss' experiments, and often regrets never having intervened or reported him for them. Maybe the prospect of having to find a new job was at the front of his mind. However, what crossed the line for him is when he transformed the asp familiar into an elf maiden, telling his assistant it was for "recreational" purposes.

Given how I've described Sillesia, I doubt I need to describe what he meant.

Tonogul managed to convince Sillesia to flee with him, and in his words, the Troupe has now become a sanctuary for both. He seems to have something of a crush on her, but she has never truly warmed up to him for some reason, always regarding him with a cold air of suspicion. He thinks she suspects ulterior motives, given who he used to work for.

The thing is, Sillesia justifiably despises and fears Drumer, but she is still his familiar, and without her, his magic is severely crippled. He's tried to kidnap Sillesia at least three times, but as I've explained before, there are benefits to being a member of the Troupe. However, Sillesia is unable to benefit from one such benefit. The Threefold Retribution rule can never be used to deal with Drumer. In fact, he can never be harmed in any way, because if he were to die, even accidentally, so would Sillesia.

For now, Sillesia is happy to perform for a paying crowd, and when not performing she often stands vigil beside the cage that holds Raja (more about him later). Should Drumer show his face again, he'd likely be her first line of defense.

**The Dark of Sillesia: **Chester is accurate for the most part, but it's clear Tonogul didn't give him the full story. First off, Sillesia was not the typical familiar.

Before going further, I should mention that Drumer's rap sheet is not limited to illegal experiments on _animals. _He's also tricked or bribed human _and _Shadowkind vagrants into being subjected to his experiments. The results were… best left undescribed.

It is little wonder that a man like this would choose to summon a pseudo-familiar, which is an evil entity who tries to tempt its master into committing dark acts. They're like dark familiars like Sarah (from "Shadowchasers: Tournament of Shadows") but far less powerful and not servants of any infernal ruler. And some might say that, despite Drumer's intent when turning her into an elven maiden, she was his greatest success. The magics not only changed her physically, but psychologically, the spell being so complete that Silesia was quickly able to learn elvish _and _English.

Unfortunately, this has caused problems. While no longer the malevolent fiend she once was, Sillesia cannot resist the urge to egg her master on, something she does whenever he's within the five-mile range in which a familiar shares a telepathic bond with the wizard who summoned her. This trolling further corrupts him as he repeatedly tries to reclaim her, and encourages him towards greater acts of evil.

One might think it odd that she would coldly rebuke Tonogul after he saved her. The truth about this is more confusing and will be answered when his File is shown.

Most disturbing of all, is one of the most frightening aspects about Sillesia - frightening to her, that is. All that it would take to undo Drumer's original spell is a use of _dispel magic, _a spell nearly _every _wizard learns to cast. If it were used on her - or even _near _her - she would return to asp form and Silesia would be gone forever.

**Story Ideas: **If presented as an ally, the goal Sillesia would pursue among all else was finding a way to deal with Drumer without killing, or somehow managing to sever the bond between them. She can and does access the Clarilla's Web chat rooms now and then - under a pseudonym, of course - but for now, most other posters regard such separation as impossible. A wizard can choose to let a familiar go, but it seems unlikely Drumer would ever consent to such unless he had no choice, maybe as part of a plea bargain or similar deal.

There's also the matter of just why she's so important to him. It seems very likely he had plans other than simply using her as a concubine, and they may be far reaching.

If the Troupe is portrayed as antagonistic, her use of Threefold Retribution could involve seduction, snakes, or both. Anyone who picks a fight with her should be prepared to fight Raja too and will quickly find that the iron chains holding him are only there for show. (Again, more on him later.) She has more than one Ariant rock python (possibly even four or five) and a dozen other venomous snakes (mostly asps) that are fully trained and trust her completely. Where she gets them is unknown, unless she knows enough about herpetology to breed and raise them herself.

Finally, Sillesia befriends snakes rather easily, so any plot where the ophidia are involved could easily involve her as an intermediary, benefactor, or unwitting pawn. She'd likely not get along well with wererats or other lycanthropes with a rodent theme - she recognizes them as her former prey, and they quickly view her as a predator towards rats - and she'd likely be terrified of any Shadow with a hawk or mongoose theme.


	7. Second Chance

_Hello fanfic fans. Hopefully everyone is doing well, and not as bored-out-of-your-skull as I am. _

_Anyway, for now, enough chat. Onto this small - and hopefully useful - chapter._

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**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

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**Part Seven**

**Second Chance**

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Dugan was well known as a mentor to several young Shadowchasers. Kurt, Nichole, and Francis were just three of them. Many often wondered then, who had _his _mentor been?

Well, her name was Olivia. And that's the most he'd tell them.

Still, he did give them advice now and then that he implied was something she told him, such as how to handle someone you had to work with but didn't completely trust (or admittedly didn't trust at all). For example, if you were forced to let such people into your group, who would be the one leading the group?

It wasn't as easy a question as Dugan assumed, as Olivia had told him. Letting the untrustworthy ally lead could result in him leading you into a trap easier. But if _you _insisted on leading, it meant turning your back to him, which could be just as bad.

As they delved back into the depths of the earth, Fawley was not only leading them (illuminating their way with a globe of magical light on the palm of his hand that he had conjured up), but his genasi assistant was taking the rear, a situation that now made Dugan wonder if Fawley knew someone who had given him the same advice.

Still, as it seemed the creepers and skulks hadn't returned to the caverns and corridors they'd explored earlier, Dugan intended to use this time to get some answers.

"You have to admit, Mr. Fawley -" he started.

"_Professor _Fawley," snapped the moon elf. "I didn't teach for eight years at the Heractium Dark Arts Academy and gain tenure to be called 'Mister', thank you very much."

"Of all the stuck-up," muttered Nichole, hoping her tone was low enough for only Francis to hear it.

"I had an algebra teacher like this guy," he said in reply.

"_Professor _Fawley, then," continued Dugan, in an annoyed tone. "Nichole brought up a good point back there, this is starting to make less and less sense. You say these smugglers control some sort of artifact that they're using for trafficking? Does kind of seem they could use dark magic to do a lot more than that."

"Whether it's dark or light is debatable, Mr. Dugan, and they do _not _fully control it. I would surmise they don't fully understand it either, but then, neither do I or any wizard I have discussed it with. The artifact in question is the Malachite Fortress itself. Or rather, Fortresses, plural. Depending on your point of view."

"I don't follow."

"That one, Mr. Naicht," said Fawley, indicating one of the gear doors. The three Shadowchasers stepped backwards as the genasi stepped forward and cracked his knuckles.

"Now, where was I?" continued Fawley. Dugan was listening, but Francis and Nichole seemed more focused on Naicht, who seemed to be concentrating and stiffening his muscles while staring at the door.

"As you know, traffickers - as their name suggests - specialize in moving contraband from the place where it is obtained to places where there are customers and profit, and when said contraband are humans or Shadows who were previously kidnapped, the transfer can be difficult."

"Especially in places where being caught often means being hanged," added Dugan.

"Indeed. These criminals have been in Cauldron for many months. Initially, after 'convincing' Mr. Ghelve to allow access to Jzadirune, they started by robbing homes and businesses for cash and other valuables. After a while, they got bolder and greedier, upgrading the quality of their plunder, robbing places of business owned by magic-users - the Academy itself included - of magical items. The first kidnappings started two months ago, and their targets were typical of their kind - vagrants, harlots, and other lower-class folk they knew nobody would miss. This month, it seems, they got _incredibly_ bold."

"And the Fortress?" asked Dugan.

"I'm getting to that. Teaching isn't my only line of work, I also have… connections to several rich individuals, mostly those involved in Cauldron's mercantile businesses. As in, the ones controlling exports and imports. I suppose you are all familiar with the whole reason this island was settled to begin with, an attempt to control shipping lanes. Many descendants of Spellmason's partners and proteges still take advantage of such, and unfortunately, so does the black market.

"In any event, one college of mine discovered the Malachite Fortress about a century ago, only to find that a magical ward of sorts prevented his use of both _dimension door _and _teleport without error. _It seemed such spells could not be used to enter or leave the Fortress; I was intrigued,

"As you also know, Ghelve's Locks is the only way to physically enter Jzadirune, and at the time, the building was owned by Mr. Ghelve's father, a man I found stubborn to the point of bull-headedness. He refused any offers of payment for use of the access, so I turned to other means of investigation."

"So, teleporting _here _and walking the rest of the way wasn't an option?" asked Dugan pointing to the floor as he emphasized the word "here".

"Mr. Dugan, what is the first thing you were taught in the army about handling a firearm?"

Dugan's brow furrowed at the oddly timed, yet easy to answer - question. "Treat every gun you encounter as if it is loaded, until/unless you personally verify otherwise."

"Exactly, much like the first rule of teleporting is, never teleport to a place you can't see, even if you do so with a failsafe. Followed by the second rule, which is 'never use such magic unless you are certain you have a way to return. And I _would_ attempt such a method eventually. Now, where was I?"

Dugan could feel it; his two students behind him were suppressing the urge to giggle at him and he couldn't blame them. This fellow was starting to get under his skin, but he _was _giving them some valid information. He answered quickly: "The 'other means of exploration'."

"As I was saying, I commissioned aid from colleges with skills in divination. After using scrying magic to engage in some remote visual exploration, I was _shocked _to discover that the Fortress contained unique runes used in potent Apportation magic!"

"Whoa, whoa, time out teach," said Francis. "What exactly _is _Apportation?"

Naicht, meanwhile, seemed to have finished the hex he had been using on the door. He clenched his fist then twisted it with a loud grunt, and the door simply crumbled to dust, a small wisp of black smoke and ash and a smell of sulfur a sign that the trap on it had been rendered harmless.

He nodded, and Fawley stepped through with everyone else following, taking a minute to peer through the door using the light from his hand. Then he lifted his other hand and started to trace the air.

"Ah yes, Apportation. This will be a _very_ abbreviated explanation, but it will do. As you know, arcane magic, or wizardry, is divided into eight main schools." A glowing, eight-pointed star appeared next to him, with a sphere on each point. The sphere at the twelve o'clock position turned yellow with the word "ABJURATION" within, followed by the sphere between one and two o'clock turning light blue with the word "ILLUSION". The colors and labels continued around the "clock", indicating "CONJURATION", "ENCHANTMENT", "NECROMANCY', "DIVINATION", "EVOCATION", and finally, "TRANSMUTATION" at the spot between ten and eleven.

"As you may also know, if a wizard has the right mental and physical attributes, he can specialize in one of these schools, gaining incredible power in his chosen school." As he continued, the diagram made a slight turn clockwise, placing Transmutation on top. "Of course, he must forego his studies in the opposing school entirely,"

He continued to gesture, causing minus signs to be placed over all the orbs except Transmutation and Enchantment. Then a big red "X" was placed over Enchantment and three plus signs over Transmutation.

"Go on," prompted Dugan.

"But some experienced specialists can go further and discover sub-disciplines of magic within a school. To accomplish this, he must forego _all _schools other than his specialty."

Gesturing again, the same red "X" crossed off all the spheres except Transmutation, which gained three more plus signs. Then a short diagonal indicator branched from Transmutation, and a new sphere appeared, a white one labeled "Apportation".

"Wait, wait, I heard Rayearth mention this once." Francis stopped to search his memory for a moment or two. "She told me she knew someone who knew someone who practiced 'transfiguration'."

"Indeed, Transfiguration is a subclass of Transmutation that focuses on changing the shape or composition of matter. _Apportation _on the other hand, focuses on _moving _matter from one place to another. Telekinesis, teleportation, alternate forms of movement, ways to use magic to _hinder _movement, that sort of thing.

"Transfusers - as practitioners of Apportation are called - can be mighty wizards indeed. When I discovered how potent this Fortress' magic was, I saw incredible potential for magical research and possible profit." Then he quickly added, "For transport of _legitimate _goods, mind you."

"Wait, wait," started Nichole, "this is all about money?"

"Heh, heh, think about it, Ms. Belvins," he replied. "Shipping firms who deal in perishable goods need special types of transport simply to keep the cargo from spoiling. Imagine if you will, bulk containers of bananas, coffee, chocolate, and avocados leaving plantations in Brazil and arriving in New York within an _hour. _To name just one use of such magic. This sort of mass-transport of goods can slash costs by almost 80%. And not just transport of goods, mind you. Consider a wizard at an army's head during a conflict, who could teleport a battalion of troops into an enemy nation's capital city. Or teleport the opposing army into a military stockade. Or even the heart of a volcano."

"That's… bad," said Nichole.

"As the cliché goes, 'only in the wrong hands. Now, the Malachite Fortress… uh, excuse me a moment…"

He turned to the far side of the room they were moving though, and the orb of light in his hand grew larger and brighter, illuminating the entire room and causing shrieks from the two creepers there who had been waiting to pounce, along with another of the skulk marksmen. Two long knives and a crossbow clattered to the floor as they covered their eyes.

"Bah," muttered Fawley, and he threw the orb at them, causing the light to intensify in a burst brighter than the sun, turning the shrieks into unholy howls as the three creatures turned and fled.

"Think you could warn us before you do that again?" groaned Nichole, holding her eyes.

"Uhm…" started Dugan.

"Let them go," replied Fawley. He gestured again, conjuring up another globe of light. "Those three will be radiating bright light for the next 72 hours, meaning their attempt to warn their fellows will likely throw the fear of God into them."

"Say, Professor," asked Francis, "when exactly does your school hold enrollment tests?"

"April," he replied, "bring a down payment and four good references. Now, where was I?"

Dugan still felt slightly uneasy about this but seeing as Fawley had likely just prevented a repeat of the disaster last time, he felt far more secure, at least.

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Five minutes later.

Morag had been forced to relocate to a room deeper into Jzadirune due to the previous battle. Well, that and the fact that the swine downstairs had told him to start watching the lift, something he had to do every month at this time, even though he didn't know why. Of course, he didn't exactly _care _why, so long as he still got his "gratuity" for it.

Right now, he was using an old-fashioned ink pen to copy something from an old book into a modern notebook; he had often considered asking the swine to hire a scribe. He had little doubt of a refusal, but even more doubt he'd cover the price.

He started to consider it even more when one of the creepers barreled into the room, causing his hand to slip and smudge ink across the whole page.

"This better be important!" he cursed to his heavily breathing minion.

Still, he listened closely to its chattering as it explained what it had seen, finally exclaiming "WHAT?"

The creeper cowered, but Morag quickly shouted, "Tell the others to fall back and prepare to evacuate. I'll confront them myself."

It knew well enough not to question the stalker's orders or disobey them. Morag went back to the box where he kept that device the half-breed had given him.

_A wizard, _he thought. _Seems those humans make allies fast. This calls for a quick change of plans._ He looked at his once-muscular and healthy arm, a limb that was now gaunt and thin, much like the rest of him.

_Confronting them this way will be a risk, but it's not like I have anything to lose._

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

"That spell you cast was _sunburst," _said Dugan.

"And…?" asked Fawley.

"It's an evocation, I thought you were limited to transmutation magic?"

"Heh, heh, Mr. Dugan, I said I _researched _Apportations, I never said I was a practitioner."

Dugan rolled his eyes. Wizards… He never truly warmed up to them.

"Now, as I was saying before I got sidetracked," continued Fawley. "The Fortress itself was built by… entities who seemed to have more skill in Apportation than any practitioner I had previously known of."

"Entities?" asked Dugan. "Shadowkind?"

Fawley looked a little uncomfortable, as if he knew the word he had used wasn't right. "It's very hard to describe them," he finally said, "but I assure you they are a subject best explored _later."_

"Fair enough, go on."

"My curiosity was piqued," continued Fawley. "After extensive research on the subject, I discovered that this Fortress was far from unique. There were several scattered around the globe, most of them in areas that were remote and difficult to access, yet rich in Shadow-related archaeology potential. I was able to gain aid to explore some of them, and eventually did take the route you suggested to view the Fortress under Cauldron firsthand, which is when I discovered the most startling revelation to date. _All of the Fortresses are the same Fortress."_

There was a long silence, the expressions from the three humans clear they had thought this moon elf had lost his mind.

"Let me elaborate," he continued. "To most humans - and indeed most Shadowkind - the Malachite Fortresses would seem to be several fortresses of similar design in separate locations, but in truth, there is only one Malachite Fortress, its enchantments creating a potent spacial-distortion and reality warping effect that causes it to be in more than one place at once. Literally."

"Wait, hold on," said Francis. "Think I'm starting to get this. So, then, if one of these Fortresses was in, say, Australia, and another was in India, Nichole could enter the one in India, and I could enter the one in Australia, and we'd both meet up in the foyer."

"Exactly!" stated Fawley. "And Nichole would then be able to go with you, exiting the one in India. But this is only the case when the enchantments are functioning, 'turned on', so to speak. If they aren't, they are perceived and function as different Fortresses in different locations."

"Sounds more like Wild Magic," said Nichole. She recalled the whole debacle with Philp and Eden, and how crazy their magic worked, like how a spell like _There/Not There _could make a door "there" for one person but "not there" for someone standing right next to him. This seemed similar, but on a larger scale.

"Possibly it _is," _answered Fawley. "Wild Magic can overlap with _any _of the more respected schools." There was a slight tone of bile in that sentence indicating a disdain for Wild Magic, but that wasn't exactly an _uncommon _opinion among wizards. "I believe that, initially, there were hundreds of these fortresses, located at various locations in this world, other worlds, and even other dimensions and realities. However, these enchantments clearly required some sort of upkeep and maintenance to function, which have been neglected since the… entities abandoned them. Currently, the spacial magic only functions for two hours or so every thirty days. Which, as you know, is

"I was tempted to attempt such repairs, given the incredible potential of this device, but given the history of the complex we're in now, I decided against it. You weren't the only one to suggest Wild Magic might play a role in the Fortress' construction."

"Wait, hold on," started Dugan. At first this all made little sense to him, but he was starting to see a way where it made _perfect _sense. "So 'the Vanishing' that struck Jzadirune -"

Fawley nodded. "Those gnomes discovered the Fortress and then tried to use its magic. They discovered, to quote another cliché, that there are some things that mortals are not meant to tamper with."

Nichole shuddered a little, but she was the first to speak up after that. "So, these guys behind the kidnapping have turned this place into a black market?"

"As I said, these criminals are well-funded and well-connected, but obviously _not _well-informed. Possibly they have a benefactor who considers them expendable. Were innocent lives not at stake I'd be tempted to leave them to their fates.

"Regardless - this ends tonight."

"Agreed," said Dugan. "Do you think -"

He was stopped as Fawley lifted his hand, peering into the room they were about to enter. "Not to alarm anyone, but the lift is just beyond this room, and it would be foolish to assume it was unguarded."

He lifted his right palm, then lightly blew on the orb, causing it to float slowly into the room. There was a soft yipping noise that turned into a loud bark.

"Cripes," said Dugan. It was Ghelve's familiar; the odds of the small Corgi chained to a stone cylinder-shaped post on the far side of the room belonging to someone else was almost nonexistent.

"Careful," said Dugan, remembering how nasty the traps and ambushes had been. Still, he carefully approached the whimpering, frightened dog, only for Nichole to rush past him towards the dog with far less caution.

No traps were triggered, so she bent down to calm the frightened - and obviously malnourished - familiar. "There, there," she said. "It's okay."

Indeed, the dog wasn't in very good shape. It was much thinner than the pictures in the shop had suggested, and its fur had fallen out in many places, showing early signs of mange.

"Whatever bastard did this is going to pay," grumbled Dugan. He lifted his gun and cocked the lever. "Nichole, pull the chain taunt."

She did so, and one blast of the weapon severed the chain. Of course, this only made the dog yelp louder, even as Nichole tried to comfort it.

"**Greetings, Mr. Dugan."**

They were startled by the voice, which they at first seemed to come from the dog. However, the voice seemed to come not from any living creature, but from the stone post itself.

"**Seeing as you're hearing this message, I assume you've found the gnome's companion. Well, do with it whatever you desire. The locksmith isn't important to me right now, nor was he ever."**

"A _magic mouth," _said Fawley, whispering to Nichole and Francis. _"_A rather archaic form of magical recording."

"That's how he was able to activate the robot from a distance," said Dugan, who was now sure he recognized the voice.

"**I have a proposition for you, one which, I assure you, can resolve this issue without the violence and bloodshed we experienced last time."**

"Oh, SURE," exclaimed Francis, "he wants to negotiate now because we have _him _with us!" He was, of course, indicating Fawley, who replied with a stern _"SHHH!"_ And rightfully so, because the message wasn't done.

"**I should mention here that the lift you are looking for requires a password to use. But seeing as you **_**know where it leads, **_**you should have no problem figuring out what it is. I hope to address you personally very soon."**

Then, as the last magic of the recording faded, the wall in front of them started to lift with a loud, slow, grating rumble, a mechanism lifting it into the ceiling above. Behind it was the lift, or rather the shaft that held the lift. with a control panel in the front.

"Clever," said Dugan, "he likely took the lift to the bottom and is waiting with it. Francis, how long before you can start the countdown again?"

"Half an hour, maybe a little less," he replied.

Dugan nodded, and examined the control panel. It really wasn't much more than a touch sensitive keyboard with only letters, reminding him of an old Speak & Spell toy. There were nine spaces for letters above the keyboard.

"No…" he said, in disbelief. He punched in the letters "MALACHITE", and there was a series of beeping sounds, followed by the whirs of pulleys and gears starting to hoist the lift upward.

"He obviously figured nobody would get this far," said Fawley. "So why make the password too complicated to remember?"

As the lift was pulled up, Dugan retrieved the slip of paper holding the riddle, examining it with his flashlight again, focusing on the last three lines.

_**Descend into the malachite hold**_

_**Where precious life is bought with gold**_

_**Half a dwarf binds them, but not for long.**_

_So far most of Cuthbert's omen has been right on the money, _he thought, _except one part…_

"Professor, what do you make of this 'half a dwarf' thing? The skulk said something about a… 'mongrel dwarf half-breed'." The last part of that sentence had a noticeable change of tone, one that sounded nervous and reluctant."

"That's…. Hard to say," replied Fawley.

The lift finally arrived, the safety bar lifting to allow them access. The lift shivered a little as they stepped on it but seemed sturdy.

"Goin' down," said Francis,

It was obvious that Fawley seemed just as nervous as Dugan about this subject being brought up. Offspring of human and Shadow parents seemed incredibly common, especially among orcs and elves. Other types of Shadow-human couples - like giants, fey, ophidia, and elemental beings were rarer, but still present.

Half-shadows with a dwarven parent were almost unheard of. This was hard to discuss, as it often painted dwarves with "positive discrimination" and elves as lustful rakes in comparison. There was a reason, of course; dwarves had strong ties to their clans that was very hard to break and was never a matter of like or dislike. As a result, a dwarf considered marrying or dating outside his clan - let alone outside his species - taboo.

"If I had to guess," Fawley said, "I'd say the ringleader might be closer to duergar or derro than true dwarf."

"Fifth floor," mused Nichole, as the elevator continued downward. "Subway mothers, aggressive panhandlers, and book critics."

"Duergar have a history of enslaving other races that dates back to prehistory, along with a reputation of cruelty towards them."

"Sixth floor," muttered Nichole again. "Right-wing extremists, serial killers, and lawyers who appear on television…"

"You see, supposedly…"

"PROFESSOR!"

To everyone's shock, that had come from Mr. Naicht. As in, Fawley's assistant, who had up to now, not said even one word. The three Shadowchasers would later recount how they had forgotten he was even there. But he was, and as soon as the warning had been sounded, Francis instinctively moved to push the moon elf out of the way, knocking Fawley to the floor. Unfortunately, something from the darkness above grabbed Francis instead, hoisting him upwards.

Naicht was the next to react, barely grabbing hold of Francis' legs, only to be yanked upwards with him.

Finally realizing what was happening, Dugan pointed his blunderbuss upward and Fawley's hands burned with blue magical fire. But they had no target to aim for. As the fast-moving lift continued downward, whatever had grabbed Francis and Naicht had disappeared into the darkness above.

Taking Francis and Naicht with them…

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_And… if there was ever a good place for a cliffhanger, this would be the place. _

_Next chapter, Dugan confronts Morag, and it's gonna be a doozy! _

_But before you leave, it's time to delve into another of our…_

**Shadowchaser Files:**

**Races: Nilbogs**

"_What's a nilbog? It's a goblin backwards. And I'm no, I'm not just talking about the spelling of its name, a nilbog is a goblin who has been turned backwards."_

_\- Elmer Chault, Shadowkind Sociologist or Archaeologist _

_The Chant of this article written by Sonya Clarkson, a Shadowchaser known for her… _unique _escapades. Indeed, she jumped at the chance to profile a type of Shadow even stranger than she was. The Dark, again, I have provided on my own. _

Goblins. We all know them. They're short, green-skinned Shadows with big ears, and rather unpleasant smiles, with voices that never cease to be annoying, seeing as most of them talk too much. They're good at building things, but rarely good at building them right (though to be fair, gnomes are just as bad). They're very business savvy when dealing with humans and other Shadows, in the same way you'd expect a used car salesman to be savvy.

I've certainly been around a few of them in my day; I've stowed away on a pirate ship full of goblins led by a hill giant (you should have seen the parrot he had), and I once helped bust a rather crude goblin who was filming movies with explicit and illegal content (don't get any ideas, I burned the negatives).

In short, even the most honest of goblins can be a handful and a headache, not to mention difficult to work with. Goblins who are dishonest criminals are among the rudest, nastiest, and unpleasant crooks you're likely to meet.

Nilbogs are… Different.

One thing you can always count on is that you'll never see two of them in one place (thank goodness) but they're _always _found with groups of regular goblins. A nilbog usually dresses like a jester or clown (usually, that is, and I'll get to that in a minute) and always in a way to draw attention to itself. I've never liked clowns to begin with, you think Crass Clown is ugly, you should have seen the ghoul-lord I had to deal with in Liverpool. Ugh, I needed therapy and a tetanus shot after that one.

But the thing about nilbogs is, they're backwards, in every sense of the term.

**The chant about Nilbogs: **I should mention here that a lot of this info is conjecture, as I've only actually met three of these things - on separate occasions - and I've pieced together a lot of this from third-party sources.

A nilbog is an ordinary goblin that has fallen victim to a curse or magical disease of some sort, which thankfully is unique to goblins. It makes them physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually _backwards._

Encounter a group of goblins in Central Park on a sunny day in the middle of summer, and if one of them is wearing a raincoat slicker, that one is likely a nilbog. Unless it's hotter than usual, in which case he'll wear a winter coat and hat. A nilbog might wear "jewelry" made of empty beer cans and discarded band-aids, while using a mahogany mother-of-pearl-inlaid jewelry box purchased at the Franklin Mint to store Ritz crackers. Tell a nilbog he's a wrinkled, ugly, disgusting pervert and he'll think you're complimenting him. Call him a handsome fellow with impeccable fashion taste, and his feelings will be hurt.

But then it gets kind of weird. Ever try to read a book while holding it upside-down. Try it, and you'll find it's not easy. Nilbogs not only read books like this, they read _backwards, _starting from the last page! (Unless said book is Japanese, of course.) They watch movies backwards too, and while they cheer for the bad guys, they seem to somehow understand the plot. Their opinion and understanding of fiction tend to be backwards too. One of those nilbogs I spoke too claimed one of his favorites was _The Ridiculous Six, _which he called "insightful and profound", while he wasn't impressed by _The Exorcist, _which he felt was a "frivolous and juvenile comedy".

Now, all this could be explained simply by saying nilbogs are _crazy, _which is a very common opinion. But then we get to the ways they are _physically _backwards, Caffeine is a stimulant, everyone knows that. But if a nilbog tries to drink two pots of black coffee, he'll fall asleep before he drinks half of the second. On the other hand, if he ate an entire banquet consisting of turkey, salmon, and bananas and then washed it all down with warm milk, he'd be awake for days.

Even worse, a nilbog can _eat _a culture of influenza germs and not get sick, but if he had the flu to begin with, eating the culture would cure him. A flu vaccination however would make him sick as a dog.

But one thing about nilbogs that makes even other goblins wary of them is how they seem to alter the laws of probability around them. Which means they cause bad luck. Ever hear of the '50-50-90 Rule'? which is described as 'If there is a 50-50 chance, 90% of the time it will go wrong. If a nilbog is around, however, change the 90% to 100%.

Basically, it's not a good idea to let a nilbog into a place where a carpenter is working; if he's using a hammer, he's certain to hit his thumb with it. If he's trying to saw through a plank, he'll find an intractable knot in the path of the saw that he failed to notice before. If someone is on a ladder painting a ceiling, he's sure to spill it on someone, either himself, an assistant, or even the hapless nilbog. And worse, this bad luck gets worse the longer the nilbog stays in one area, although our hypothetical carpenters would likely tell it to scram long before their bad luck started to cause injuries. Some who deal with nilbogs aren't as lucky.

So, what causes this curse? To be honest, "curse" may be the wrong word, as the three nilbogs I've met don't seem to have a problem with it, not to mention that curses are usually curable.

I do intend to continue this research though, and I might be able to update this soon. After all, one of those nilbogs promised to meet me in Bangkok in about four months, a meeting I intend to keep. I mean, what's the worst that can happen?

**The Dark of Nilbogs: **Oh, Sonya, you can be so naive! The answer of course is _everything. _

Now, I should point out that the "rule" Ms. Clarkson quoted is actually a bastardized version of Finagle's Law of Dynamic Negatives, which states, "The perversity of the Universe tends towards a maximum." This is often translated to, "If something can go wrong, it _will _go wrong, in the worst possible way at the worst possible time."

The nilbog's condition is often compared to a "chaos phage", which does indeed affect probability, but never for the better. They not only push perversity towards the maximum, they redefine what the maximum is, stretching the very limits of just how bad a situation can get. Whether the nilbog itself has any control over this power, well, it's hard to say. Most believe it does not, seeing as it's not the nilbog itself causing it.

The cause of a nilbog's condition is neither curse nor magical disease, it's more like demonic possession, but not by a true demon. A nilbog is created when a goblin is possessed by a spirit of pure, raw, malevolent **CHAOS. **Now I have no idea where this entity comes from, but the Far Realm is the most likely candidate. Thankfully, these spirits can only infect goblins; possibly whoever or whatever spawns them is related to goblins, possibly a rival or enemy.

There is no true way to predict what sort of goblin will fall victim to this condition, but nilbogs are often former underlings of more powerful Shadows that are known for abusing them. Possibly, goblins who suffer under a cruel employer are a beacon for this type of spirit. Possibly their antics are a way of compensating for it.

I also know of many famous goblin, hobgoblin, and bugbear leaders who came to rather humiliating ends. I am reminded of a rich hobgoblin in Russia who called himself the Brigadier. (For anyone who doesn't know, the Russian military has not had officers called "Brigadiers" since 1830. He was a _vor y zakone _for the Mafiya.) He died when his valet - a morbidly obese bugbear - tripped and fell on him, in public no less. He was known to have a toadying goblin servant dressed as a harlequin, which in hindsight, was likely a nilbog.

One might wonder why such cruel masters wouldn't kill - or at very least, fire - get rid of a nilbog when they had the chance. It's not that easy. If a nilbog dies, the spirit can simply use another goblin as a host. Worse, their condition has nothing to do with revenge, so even if all its abusers fall victim to its phage, it will just go looking for more creative ways to spread it. Whether this spirit can truly be destroyed or not is debatable, but there may be ways to drive it away, maybe by ignoring it or lavishing it with praise and flattery. But even if _that _does the trick, it might not be gone for long.

**Story Ideas: **Any comic book fan who has read a _Superman _story with Mr. Mxyzptlk or a _Fantastic Four _story with the Impossible Man knows how this kind of character works. They have little motives other than to sow as much discord and create as much chaos as possible, for little reason other than their skewed - or outright malicious - desire to have fun. Often the heroes of these stories find that their usual methods do little against this sort of foe and are forced to resort to creativity of their own. Villains like the Blue Meanies and the Noid are other examples of characters whom nilbogs could pattern themselves after. A nilbog could even dress like one of them! Whatever the case, a nilbog fits the role of the annoying imp that you must somehow convince to leave.

For variety, trying to apprehend or coral such a Shadow could be seen as a magical version of _Home Alone, _although for the most part, if a nilbog is actually cornered in such a scenario, grabbing him and wrestling it to the ground should be a simple matter. It's doubtful that a nilbog would be the mastermind in any long-rage villainous plan, better fitting a small part of one.

The Duel Monsters card game is very dependent on luck (to the point of an RNG playing a big part) and in a _Shadowchasers _story, where the game plays a vital role, this sort of character can be a nightmare. Not just as an opponent either, as the nilbog's chaos phage plays no favorites. If a nilbog were to duel itself, it's deck would likely be a "billy deck" if it had a theme at all; organization and strategy aren't its style. In fact, it could make for a hilarious scene if a hero with a well-prepared strategy starts to struggle against a foe like this. Just remember, a nilbog doesn't bestow _good _luck on anyone, so it wouldn't be the type to prosper from cards that use coin tosses or dice rolls.


	8. The Demon Within

_Hello, folks. I hope everyone is doing well, staying safe, and finding things to do during this whole fiasco._

_I'd say more, but given everything on the news lately, I'm sure the last thing anyone wants is more hot air. So, I'll get right into it._

_I would, however, like to apologize for the obvious (and pretty dumb) mistakes with the chapter numbers. This was an error in copying and pasting, and should be fixed now._

_So, Enjoy._

**0-0-0-0-0**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Part Eight**

**The Demon Within**

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"Francis!" shouted Nichole. "Dugan, turn this thing in reverse!"

"Not sure I can do that," he replied, and he was right, as the lift had no interior controls. In fact, it was now descending much faster, and sparks were flying from the mechanism. "Hold on!"

"To what?" shouted Nichole, "each other?" The Corgi she was holding barked loudly, its tone indicating sheer terror.

Still, that did seem like a good idea as Dugan held her as the lift shudder and shook, and then finally screeched and slowed to a halt, causing the three riders to collapse.

"Land ho..." groaned Nichole.

They slowly stood up as the safety bar, again, lifted, the concern about Francis and Naicht now taking a backseat to what was in front of them.

"Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here," said Fawley, nervously.

The entrance to the Malachite Fortress was an archway flanked by two pillars, one of which was shaped like a nude human female with horns and wings, her mouth open and bearing small fangs. A snake coiled around her, the snake's head looming over her shoulder, its fanged maw opened just as much. The other pillar was built to resemble two much uglier demons; an obese, bald, vaguely human-shaped figure with thin arms and legs, sitting cross-legged. A second was standing on the first's shoulders. Both had wide, open mouths. These four monsters seemed to scream a silent warning to anyone who would dare approach.

However, the top of the archway was dominated by something much different, a gargoyle with three heads that seemed like those of an emaciated human with very sharp features. Each head had a horn on its forehead made of crystal. These horns stood out against the rest of the sculptures on the archway, which, like the archway itself, was made of stone. The two crystals were glowing softly, providing illumination for the room. Mostly, that is, as the place was still dim, with only darkness beyond the arc.

There was indeed a second control panel outside the lift. Dugan started to examine it and tried punching in the same code.

"You know, Fawley," said Nichole, "I don't think people would _buy _bananas and coffee if they knew they were shipped through this place."

"I concur," he replied.

"We should go back up," said Nichole, who was now more nervous than ever. "Francis -"

"Francis will be fine," assured Fawley. "Naicht is with him, and believe me, Naicht is someone I put complete trust in. I tutored him in transmutation _and_ elemental magic personally."

"I'm not sure that reassures me," said Nichole.

"Well, we can't go back anyway," said Dugan, "the code for this panel is different than the one up there. Regardless, we seem to have larger problems now."

Indeed, footsteps were coming from up ahead, and two glowing, red eyes appeared. Again, Dugan lifted his weapon and pointed it ahead of him.

**Interlude**

_**Many years ago. Five months after Nichole's first duel with Roxy, at the South Dering YMCA.**_

"Soap, towel, and a locker please," said Nichole. "One hour."

She handed the five-spot to the lady at the desk, looking around and noting the changes since she had been here last. Everything here, from locker rentals to actual rooms were cheap, but since then, she had joined St. Cuthbert's House. There was little she could get here that could not be obtained even cheaper and at better quality at the House. And until this morning, she had had no intention of coming here at all.

Even as she disrobed and threw her clothes haphazardly into a locker outside the lady's showers, she wondered if doing so had been a good idea.

As she expected, there was one occupant in the communal shower already. Obviously not human, her aquamarine skin, dark green hair, pointed ears, and gill-like protrusions under her cheeks. She was a nereid, a member of an undersea race of Shadow. The ancient Greeks had believed nereids to be aquatic nymphs, daughters of Poseidon; actual nereids who heard this story would laugh and call humans naive and ignorant. In truth, they were elemental spirits given flesh, and if they were daughters of anything, it was the sea itself.

Of course, what concerned Nichole the most about this particular nereid was the Blue Serpent tattoo on her arm.

_Here goes nothing, _thought Nichole. She turned on the water and turned her back to the nereid, and then started to lather herself with the soap, as if she had come here for the usual purpose. "So, Dinah," she said, "why did you want to meet here."

Dinah did not turn around but replied quickly. "When you meet with someone in the shower, it's easy to trust her. You know they are not carrying a weapon, a mobile, or a wire. It shows you have nothing to hide."

Nichole wouldn't deny that, although she _was _more than prepared to scream for help if this turned out to be a trap. She decided to get right to the point. "Your note said you wanted to tell me something about Marc. I should warn you, I'm fairly sure I know more about my own brother than _any _of you do, and I've heard all the lies you've said about him too."

"Then I'll be completely honest, Nichole. _Yes, _he was framed for that murder, and _yes _Sven set him up."

For a minute or two, there was dead silence, other than the sound of the water. The last thing Nichole had expected was a confession.

"..._but _it was never Sven's decision. The order came from the top."

"Top? Top of _what?"_

"Have you ever heard of a man named Madison Vance?"

**End of Interlude**

What came out of the archway was a man-sized but obese undead creature, with purple skin and a lolling, disgusting tongue. There was a large wound on its stomach that looked like it had been hastily stitched together, but still showing jaundiced, decaying innards.

"Ghoul With an Appetite?" said Dugan. He fired his weapon and the Duel Monster shattered. "Okay, if this is some sort of joke, I can assure you I am _not _amused! Show yourself!"

"Indeed, I see you are _profoundly serious_, Mr. Dugan, '' said a voice they all recognized. Slowly, a hooded, cloaked figure approached. Starbrow barked, indicating this was a live creature it could identify by scent, rather than a Solid Vision hologram.

For the leader of the dark creepers, Morag did not look very impressive. He wore cloak, hood, and trousers, all of them colored black, dirty, and tattered. He had no shoes or shirt under the cloak, and his flesh underneath was grey. He seemed thin and malnourished, and there were sores on his torso. Still, Dugan wasn't fooled into thinking he was harmless.

The stalker lowered his hood, revealing a head as bald as Dugan's. "I've been waiting for you."

"Oh, I just bet you have."

Half a second later, Dugan had seized hold of him and slammed him against the stone pillar. "WHERE'S FRANCIS?" he demanded.

"Ugh, Francis?" grunted the stalker. "I, uh, I expected him to be with you."

"Don't play dumb, something grabbed him and the Professor's assistant while we were on the way down, and -"

Unfortunately for Dugan, Morag wasn't as frail as he seemed. One powerful shove and the stalker threw the former Marine from him and across the room.

"Ow," said Dugan. He looked up, and wispy, misty darkness started to rise around Morag as dozens of sets of eyes flickered and flashed behind him. _"I assure you that if your companions have been taken, it was NOT via my order!" _he said in an inhuman, threatening tone. Then he calmed down and said, "Ahem,' and switched back to his normal voice. "I offered to resolve this without violence, and I intend to comply."

"We tend to have trouble trusting traffickers," said Nichole. Starbrow growled and bared its teeth while glaring at the stalker.

"I am _not _a trafficker, my men and I are simply mercenaries working for someone who is, and believe me, I opposed that part of their activities from the start. The skulks are the same, although I do believe they enjoy their job a little _too _much. That is why I am meeting you here to propose an alternative way of resolving this. I hear that outside of Cauldron you have a special means of resolving combat."

"Duel Monsters, you mean?" asked Dugan. "Seriously?"

As if to reply, Morag lifted his left arm upward, causing his sleeve to fall and reveal a Duel Disk, which he activated. "Unbelievable," said Dugan.

"Here are my terms," said Morag. "Simply put, you win, I'll call my men off and not hinder you further. I only ask that no matter what happens here, my men be allowed to leave in peace."

"You really think we can trust this guy?" asked Nichole.

"Well, no," answered Fawley.

"Do you have a choice?" asked Morag. More of the creepy eyes started to appear behind him, along with whispering and snickering. Fawley tensed. "Your magic is of a limited supply, wizard," continued Morag, "more than hers, maybe," he pointed towards Nichole, "but while you may be able to defeat us, I doubt the swine downstairs will make the same offer as I am now. So, what will it be?"

Fawley nodded. "He does make a point. Dugan, I do hope this silly game of yours pans out."

"Don't worry about it," said Dugan. He stepped forward, lifting his left arm, and activating his own Duel Disk. "After all we've been through, this might actually be a good way to blow off some steam."

"Game on," said Morag, "as I believe you folks are wont to say."

**(Dugan: 8,000) - - - - - - - - - - (Morag: 8,000)**

"You take the first move," said Dugan, "I insist."

"Well, if you _insist," _replied Morag, making his first draw. "I will summon… Mathematician!"

He played a card, causing a burst of numbers and mathematical symbols - including plus, minus, division, pound, and percentage signs - emerged in a spiraling aura, and a short, dumpy man to appear. He wore an academic robe and mortarboard, thick glasses over a bulbous nose, and a long, white beard down to his toes. (1,500 ATK)

Fawley didn't seem overly impressed. "So _that's _one of the Duel Monsters I've heard so much about? He looks like a rejected Disney character."

"There's an unwritten rule of Duel Monsters," said Nichole ominously, "that the sillier a monster looks, the more dangerous it can be, and that guy is _really _dangerous." She watched closely, as Morag took the deck from his Disk's holder. "And this one is no exception. See, merely by summoning Mathematician, he gets to send _any _low-level monster he wants to his Graveyard, and a lot of them are a lot better there."

Morag chose a card, discarded it, and then shuffled his deck. Finally, he took three more cards from his hand and set them. "I'll end with one facedown card. So, Major, let's see what you have."

"I draw," said Dugan. "And because I control no face-up cards, I can summon, with no sacrifice…" He used a card, and a column of white-hot flames shot from the spot in front of him. "Machina Metalcrunch!"

Stepping from the column, casing the floor to tremble as it did so, was a ten-foot-tall robot, of odd proportions. Its torso seemed proportionately small, its left arm having a thin and skeletal forearm reaching from a much thicker, cylinder-shaped, aft arm; the right arm had the same aft arm, but a thicker, stronger-looking forearm. The lower legs were thick with flared extensions, and it had similar extensions on its helmet-like head. The whole thing had bright orange armor with green trim. (2,800 ATK)

"Well, in all fairness, I suppose I asked for it," said Morag, looking up at the giant Machine.

**Interlude**

Of course, Nichole had indeed heard of Madison Vance. After all, it was hard to live in South Dering - or Chicago, or even Illinois - without knowing about the CEO and president of the billionaire tycoon head of Alchemix Industries. Nichole knew even before gaining Awareness that the company was, in one way or another, involved in everything from cat food to military issue aircraft, and had subsidies in dozens of nations on every continent. Now that she _was _Aware and knew alchemy was real, she figured the name had something to do with it. But what Dinah was telling her now was rather hard to believe, even for someone talking to a nereid.

"Global organized crime?" she gasped. "And the Blue Serpents are part of it?"

"Sort of," replied Dinah. "From what I've heard, Vance has connections everywhere. Drug running, fencing goods, loan sharking, extortion, murder-for-hire - I think he once claimed to be behind a lot of 'celebrity suicides' quote-unquote. You see -"

"Wait, wait, spare me the details," interrupted Nichole. "This is crazy, I mean, if Vance really is the biggest mobster among Shadowkind, why would he bother with the Blue Serpents? They seem kind of penny-ante."

"That's the idea, Nichole, the Serpents are beneath suspicion. Most members of the police and FBI think they're just a bunch of delinquent kids. Hell, even most of the Serpents themselves think that. Only a few of them ever find out that Sven takes orders from someone else, and that the Serpents' crimes help him gather information he might find useful for both his legitimate _and _illegal dealings. It's not just the Serpents either, he has gangs like this in every major city that has trouble with gangs. But that's not the only use he has for them.

"Nichole, what do you know about dragons?"

**End of Interlude**

"Of course, since I summoned Metalcrunch that way," continued Dugan, "its Attack Score falls a little." (1,800 ATK) "Now to use its effect, which starts with me taking three cards from my deck. Look close and pay attention because you're going to have to choose one."

Machina Metalcrunch hummed, and its visor glowed; three holographic projections of cards materialized, front sides forward - Machina Fortress, Machina Citadel, and Machina Irradiator. Dugan gestured, and they flipped around, then combined, then separated again.

"Choose one, and I get to keep whichever you choose, then send the other two back to the deck."

"The 'fun' begins," sighed Fawley, eliciting a "SHHH!" from Nichole.

"Ugh, center card," said Morag. The two cards on each side disappeared, the center card turning around, revealing itself to be Irradiator. It shrunk, adding itself to Dugan's other five cards. Morag smirked slightly.

"I suppose you think you're safe because that was the lowest Level card, but rest assured, Irradiator is dangerous in its own way. First, I can discard another Machina to Special Summon it."

He took another of his cards, slipped it into his Disk's discard slot, and a silver, shimmering portal appeared, along with a rumbling, motorized sound. Plodding out of the portal was another robot, or possibly a tank; the Machine seemed to have aspects of both. It was like two bulky arms, each with rocket launchers in place of hands, a huge turret cannon with two barrels (one atop the other, not side by side like a shotgun), and a device under the turret that suggested a head. All this was built atop a diamond-shaped base which was supported by tank treads, and the whole thing was painted dull green. (1,700 ATK)

"Now I'll use Irradiator's effect, which destroys one of my Machina monsters, and summons another from my deck with a lower Level." Irradiator's four cannon barrels started to absorb pulsating globules of energy, "I choose to destroy Irradiator itself." He snapped his fingers, and the huge tank burst into green pixels. "As a result, I summon Machina Sniper."

The silvery portal opened again, and a Machine leapt out, one which was more humanoid, but still somewhat awkward. It was tall, lanky, had an elongated head, and carried a rifle.

"Hmph. Your Level 4 monster is actually stronger than the Level 8 one."

"And both are stronger than your Spellcaster," added Dugan, "as you'll see when my Machina Metalcrunch attacks!"

The larger Machina lifted its right arm, its cylindrical forearm changing shape and producing a glowing plasma cannon; it pointed its weapons at Mathematician…

"I activate the Trap Card, Phantom Knights of the Shadow Veil!" As the card lifted, Mathematician's face twisted into a scowl, as a halo of shadowy darkness surrounded him and he lifted his scepter to meet Metalcruncher's attack, (1,800 ATK) "It may only be a 300-point boost, but it's enough to make this battle a mutual kill."

"Think again," replied Dugan. "I activate the Quickplay Spell, Forbidden Scripture!"

He slammed the card into his Disk's Spell Zone, and a lady in a long white gown appeared overhead, to the sound of angelic choirs. She closed her eyes and held out her arms and a large, leather-bound book appeared between them and opened.

"This Spell negates the effects of all other cards on the field for this one battle andforces our monsters to fight using their base scores."

"But that means -"

"You got it, it not only reduces Mathematician down to 1,500, it causes Metalcrunch to _gain _those point it lose when I summoned it!"

The Machine's Score shot up to 2,800 as its missiles fired, causing the room to shake as they exploded and obliterated Mathematician.

**(Dugan: 8,000) - - - - - - - - - - (Morag: 6,700)**

"Ugh," grunted Morag.

"That hurt? Get used to it! Now, before my Sniper attacks, I can use an added effect of Machina Reserbreak, the monster I discarded to use Irradiator's effect. Because it's in my Graveyard and a Machina on the field won a battle, I get to recover it." The card slipped from his Disk's discard slot and he took it, placing it with the rest of his hand. "Which means I can use it for a discard again, should the need arise. Now Sniper can strut his stuff. Sniper -"

The android aimed its weapon at the stalker and prepared to fire, but then Morag lifted his hand in a "STOP!" gesture. "Did you really think _all _that Trap did was raise its Score by 300 points? Phantom Knights of the Shadow Veil is no mere Trap Card, Mr. Dugan! Since you just declared a direct attack, I can take it from my Graveyard, and turn it into a monster, which I now place in Defense Mode!"

There was haunting laughter and a loud whiny of a horse as the monster appeared, a rider in dark armor and - as its name suggested - a ghostly veil over its face. It carried a sword with a long, wavy blade, made of red metal. It was mounted on a pitch-black unicorn with golden barding and glowing red eyes. (300 DEF)

"A Trap Monster!" exclaimed Nichole.

Sniper paused, then shifted its aim to Shadow Veil, firing a volley of rounds that pierced the Dark Warrior's armor; it made a loud groan, and then shattered.

"You vanquished Shadow Veil," announced Morag, "but by doing so, you enabled me to summon The Phantom Knights of Fragile Armor from my hand."

The new Warrior that appeared was not mounted and looked more muscular. It wore leather, dark grey armor, and a helmet, all of which was torn and frayed. However, blue flames burned from each tear, as if the armor were meant to contain a burning core of energy inside the Knight, a containment that seemed likely to fail at any minute. (1,000 ATK)

_This might be trickier than I thought, _mused Dugan. "I end my turn then."

"Then I draw a card," said Moran, "and then set a Trap Card."

'Uhm, you do know," said Nichole, "it's never a good idea to tell your opponent that a set card is a Trap."

"I can afford to," replied Morag, "because due to _this _Trap Card's effect, when I have no Trap Cards in my Graveyard, I can activate it right now. And when The Phantom Knights of Shade Brigandine is activated, it becomes a monster in Defense Mode."

The Trap lifted, the card doing a 90 degree turn and positioning itself the way a Monster would, forming a monster that seemed odd to say the least. It had no limbs; it was like a ghostly floating breastplate with an equally ghostly helmet hovering over it, nothing but blue fire where the head would be. (300 DEF)

"This fellow certainly has trouble telling a singular from a plural," said Fawley, smugly.

"Very funny," grumbled the stalker. "I didn't name the blasted cards, okay? But if you're genuinely interested in plurals, I'll gladly comply because when I control at least one of the Phantom Knights, I can Special Summon The Phantom Knights of Silent Boots."

Like before, this Warrior didn't look much like a knight, wearing a ragged cloak, shirt, trousers, and hood made of dirty burlap, which looked like something a farmer would put on a scarecrow. His hands were bound with a long chain, draped behind its back, and it wore a necklace made with three small skulls. Like the others, its face was made of ghostly blue flames. (200 ATK)

"AND, for my Normal Summon this turn, I'll summon The Phantom Knights of Ragged Gloves."

The Warrior that appeared this time had, again, ghostly blue flames for a face under its helmet, but also had a snake-like trunk in place of legs, made of the same blue flames. Its arms, however, were composed of orange flames, and seemed impossibly thin and long, terminating in black gloves, each with a glowing, blue triangle on the palms. There were also tendrils of the orange flames sprouting from the sides of its helmet, suggesting long, curved horns. The breastplate itself seemed plain and made of black metal. (1,000 ATK)

Another of his facedown cards lifted. "Next, I'll activate the Trap Card, The Phantom Knights of Lost Vambrace. This card renders one of my Phantom Knights impervious in battle but causes it to lose 600 Attack Points and reduces its Level to 2. I'll be granting that to Ragged Gloves." (400 ATK)

'Not sure that's an even trade-off," said Dugan.

"Not by itself, but like before, the Trap also becomes a monster, and its Level is _also _2."

This time, as the Trap refitted itself on the Monster Zone, the Warrior that appeared had no head or legs at all, just a breastplate and gauntlets of Feudal Japanese design, with the ghostly blue flames seemingly consuming it from within. (600 ATK)

"That means I can form the Overlay Network, and use The Phantom Knights of Lost Vambrace and the Phantom Knights of Ragged Gloves -" The two ghostly Warriors shattered into black shards, which hung in the air for a second or two, and then started to recombine. "I Xyz Summon the Phantom Knights of Cursed Javelin!"

The Network abated, and the monster that appeared was unsettling and eerie, one that seemed both fragile and dangerous. It wore a drab, brown jumpsuit that seemed baggy and unkempt, worn over a gaunt form. Its boots and breastplate fit better, and both seemed to be made of stone and metal. Its helmet looked like a metal skull, with four downward-pointing tusks where the jawbone would be. It did indeed have a javelin as a weapon, consisting of three skulls welded together, a hilt bonded to one end and a sharp, jagged blade made of stone on the other. It also had a large shield made to look like a skeletal face. Finally, the now familiar blue flames spurted from its shoulders. (1,600 ATK)

"Hmph, another sheep in wolf's clothing," muttered Fawley.

"Will you be quiet?" snapped Dugan.

"I'd listen to him, 'Professor'," said Morag, "because while Cursed Javelin only has 1,600 Attack Points on his own, summoning it with Ragged Gloves gives it 1,000 more." (2,600 ATK) "But it hardly needs them, because by using an Overlay Unit, it can reduce the Attack Score of an opposing monster to zero."

The larger Machina shuddered and shook for a moment, then collapsed on one knee, barely using one hand to keep from collapsing completely. (0 ATK)

"That's… bad," said Dugan.

"And this is just the beginning, Mr. Dugan. En garde."

The Phantom Knight made a lunge forward towards Sniper, making a fleche thrust and skewering it through the chest; fortunately, it was an android, but it still sparked from the wound, shuddered, dropped its rifle, and shattered.

"Ugh, touché," growled Dugan.

"Yes, you humans do have such a unique sense of humor," sighed Morag. He pointed at the now helpless Metalcrunch, and a brilliant beam of the blue flames cascaded from Fragile Armor, incinerating the giant robot.

A surge of unexpected pain hit Dugan like a wrench to the face, and he stumbled while holding his chest, struggling to keep from falling over. He looked at the four monsters and cursed himself for not realizing the obvious.

These weren't Solid Vision holograms. This was real.

_A Shadow Duel, _he thought. _Why am I not surprised?_

Then, just to add insult to injury, as he tried to get up, The Phantom Knight of Silent Boots used its silent boot to kick him in the face.

**(D: 6,000) - - - - - - - - - - (M: 6,700)**

Morag, on the other hand, wasn't feeling pain from the Shadow Duel at all. He was feeling _much _better in fact. He held his chest, and to his delight, the effort it had taken to breath before - it wasn't there. He felt invigorated, better than he had in years. _It's working, _thought the stalker.

"Because using Cursed Javelin's effect sent Ragged Gloves to the Graveyard, I can banish it from there to send The Phantom Knights of Cloven Helm _to _the Graveyard. Having done that, I'll end my turn with a facedown card. It is your move."

**Interlude**

At this point of her young career, Nichole had only heard a couple stories about dragons, often placed among stories of other incredibly powerful Shadowkind. She had never even heard of Jalal Stormbringer. The only advice Donny or Gregory had given her should she be unlucky enough to meet one of these beasts was, "Run away before it sees you; if it does, run away if you can. If you _can't,_ surrender, plead for mercy, and give it anything it wants. Pride isn't worth your life." In general, they were Shadows you did _not _want to mess with.

But now Dinah was telling her that Madison Vance, the hidden leader of the Blue Serpents and countless other criminal gangs, was a dragon in human form. (Only partially right, as she'd find out later, although in hindsight, she doubted Dinah truly understood what Vance was.) For now, Nichole's response was simply, "NO WAY!"

"Yes way!" replied Dinah, who had finally decided to turn around and talk to Nichole to her face, her sea green eyes relaying sadness and regret. "Dragons are greedy and selfish monsters Nichole. You've read the old stories about how they horde wealth, but these days, they horde more than gold. They're greedy for power and influence over others. They want _everything _their greedy claws can reach, and some of them already think everything is rightfully theirs. Often, they _get _what they want and get away with it. It's not fair, but then, what is.

"Vance is no exception. He considers everyone below him little more than slaves who should be happy they've 'earned the right' to serve him. How do you think the Blue Serpents got their name? These tattoos we have," she held her arm up to give Nichole a full view of the snake, the same one on her brother's arm, "to him they're _brands, _like brands you put on cattle, to make sure everyone knows "this gang is _mine"._ We have opposable hands and can talk, and to him that's the only difference between us and actual cattle.

"So, if a business partner is sick and needs a kidney transplant to survive, he's not going to put his name on a waiting list and pray for a donor. He's going to find some thug in one of these lowbrow gangs and _make _him the donor. He takes fancy to some cute teenage girl who a member of the gang is dating, well -"

"You mean he's into screwing with cattle?" asked Nichole.

"Know pictures in textbooks that detail slave auctions before the Civil War, how they were sold alongside livestock? Thomas Jefferson had quite a few young slaves that looked a lot like him, Nichole, figure it out."

Nichole wanted to call Dinah out here, claim she was crazy, and that nothing she was saying made any sense. Unfortunately, it only made _too much _sense now. But Dinah continued.

"Worst of all, if someone kills a man and the killer is too valuable to Vance to go to jail, he's going to find someone who isn't as valuable and pin the murder on him. He's done it a lot, Nichole, poor Marc was only his most recent victim."

Nichole didn't talk for a few minutes more, and then said, "This is heavy shit, Dinah. What about you? Shouldn't the police -"

Dinah interrupted her with a laugh. "Seriously, Nichole? Guys like Vance _own _the police! Even if I found an honest one, you really think they'd trust a gang moll like me?"

"I trust you," replied Nichole.

"That means a lot, Nichole, it really does. I'm only telling you because I feel you had the right to know. Sooner or later you're going to have to deal with this, but it won't take you by surprise. You're a smart girl, and maybe you can at least be prepared."

She hugged Nichole.

"Listen, if you really want to know more, just wait here about ten minutes, then go back to the locker room. I left something in locker 303. Goodbye."

"Wait, Dinah!"

Dinah didn't turn around, grabbing her towel on the way out. Nichole leaned against the wall.

_What the devil have I gotten into? _she thought.

**End of Interlude**

"Ugh," said Dugan as he got up. "You're pretty good for someone who 'just heard' about this game."

"I'm a fast learner," replied the stalker.

"Machina Soldier, front and center!" ordered Dugan. Playing a new card caused another droid to appear, one of similar design to Sniper, but shorter, bulkier, with dull green plating, and a sword blade in place of its right hand. (1,600 ATK)

"Summoning this one lets me bring out the heavy artillery, and Special Summon the Machina Megaform."

Playing another card caused a tremor and a cloud of dust as another huge robot started to rise out of the ground. The robot looked like Machina Fortress had been lifted so its front pointed downwards, a pair of strong, bulky legs affixed to it, then two equally strong arms affixed to the sides, the tank treads now acting like shoulder-guards. A turret almost as long as the Machine was tall pointed over its right shoulder. (2,600 ATK)

Morag said nothing, looking Dugan firmly in the eye with his arm holding his Disk tensing.

"Oh, I'm not going to attack with this one," continued Dugan. "Instead I'll use its effect and sacrifice it -" Morag lifted an eyebrow quizzically as the huge robot started to sink into the ground, the same dust cloud covering its descent. "And then summon Machina Fortress in Defense Mode."

With more shaking and rumbling, the actual Fortress rose from where the Megaform sank, a giant tank with shiny, blue plating, a robot's head and arms, and the same turret. (1,600 DEF)

"Now I will - again - discard Machina Reserbreak in order to summon Machina Air Raider."

Discarding the card caused a downdraft and the sound of helicopter blades. Both Nichole and Fawley actually bent down (something most everyone should do when a helicopter comes in for a landing) as a craft descended from above. Resembling a cross between a small airplane and a robotic bird, its two arms were rotary blades within circular metal rings, with missile silos on each end of the wings, two smaller silos on the shoulders, and metal talons for landing gear. (1,500 ATK)

"And I end my turn," he said, grimly.

"Very clever, Mr. Dugan." Morag drew a card as he spoke. "You figured, I assume, that I could use Javelin's effect when you attacked, and you were right."

"Yeah, Special Summoning a monster with only 200 points in Attack Mode kind of gave it away."

"True," replied Morag, and that's the first thing I intend to remedy. First I'll summon The Phantom Knights of Ancient Cloak."

There was a ghostly, spooky moan, as a new Phantom Knight floated onto the field to join the others. The "ancient cloak" this creature wore was indeed incredibly old, ragged, torn, and colored midnight blue, with a red scarf draped over the shoulders. There seemed to be no solid body inside, the Knight's face again composed of the blue, ghostly flames. A stone arch hovered over the creature, and two metal scepters floated in the air on each side. (800 ATK)

"By summoning this monster, I can move a Dark Monster to Defense Mode, and then increase its Defense by 800 points." Ancient Cloak's eyes flickered with otherworldly light, and Silent Boots knelt and crossed its arms. (1,200 DEF - (2,000 DEF)

"Now I'll use the second Overlay Unit of my Cursed Javelin on your Machina Fortress!"

Like Metalcrunch had, Fortress groaned and shuddered, its Defense Score sinking to 0. However, Dugan smirked and closed his eyes, saying, "I was hoping you'd do that."

"Eh?" asked

"I activate the effect of Machina Air Raider!" shouted Dugan. "Like Irradiator, it can destroy one of my cards, but it does so on _your _turn, and I choose to destroy Machina Fortress!"

Four missiles fired from Air Raider's silos, doubling back in mid-air, and hitting Fortress, blowing it to little pieces. "Not only did I fool you into wasting your Xyz Monster's last Overlay Unit, but Air Raider's effect lets me summon a Machina from my deck that's a lower Level than Fortress. I choose Machina Gearframe."

A new Machina appeared, a tall, lanky one with orange plating, no weapon, and a head built to resemble a helmet. (1,800 ATK)

"_AND, _by banishing Fortress when it's destroyed, I can bring something back I'm sure you'll remember!"

The ground rumbled again, Machina Megaform rising to the surface, as strong as ever. (2,600 ATK)

"I see…" said Morag, looking up at the huge mecha. "In that case… I'll set one more card and move Fragile Armor to Defense Mode, and then you go."

He said it all rather quickly, the set card appearing followed by the Knight moving to the same position as Silent Boots. (2,000 DEF)

'Doesn't seem all-too fragile to me,' said Dugan, drawing a card, "but regardless - "

Machine Soldier lifted its blade, Megaform aimed its huge turret, missiles appeared in all four of Air Raider's silos, and Gearframe held both its fists forward, and on each wrist, miniature gatling guns unfolded. Air Raider made the first move, its missiles launching and then homing in on Phantom Knights of Silent Cloak, blowing the specter to bits as Morag shielded his eyes with his arm.

**(D: 6,000) - - - - - - - - - - (M: 6,000)**

"Looks like the score is tied," said Dugan, "but I'm not done yet."

Machina Soldier went next, propelling itself with a leap towards Phantom Knights of the Shade Brigade. This time, however, Morag used his set card. "I activate The Phantom Knights of Wrong Magnetring!" he shouted. "This card halts your attack!"

A ring of magical energy, covered with violet runs and surrounded by the now-familiar ghostly blue flames spiraled out of the Trap Card; Soldier's blade collided unto it with a loud ringing noise, and Shade Brigade was unharmed.

_Huh? _Thought Dugan. _Why didn't he use that to protect Ancient Cloak, unless…? _

"Like before, this Trap then turns into a monster."

"Again?" exclaimed Nichole. "How many of these things do you have?"

Morag didn't answer, but like before, a new monster formed from the card. This time it looked like the skull and arms of a skeleton, made of metal rather than bone, with a dun brown cloak and hood. It used its bony claws to grab hold of the magical ring. (0 ATK)

"And as a monster, Wrong Magnetring has a new effect, which I can use right now. By sending it and another Phantom Knight to the Graveyard, I can draw two cards."

_Of course, he needed to wait so he'd have room in his Monster Zone for that one. Well, now I can give him even more room. _

Wrong Magnetring and Fragile Armor dissolved, and the stalker drew twice. However, he staggered as a volley machine gun shells and one mighty laser beam fired from Gearframe and Megaform, eradicating Shade Brigade and Silent Boots.

"Lucky for you, those two were in Defense Mode. Again, because at least one of my Machina destroyed a monster, I get to recover Machina Reserbreak from my Graveyard, and it is your move."

'Heh, I suppose the reason you spared Silent Boots is because you felt it was powerless without its Overlay Units." Morag drew, and a nasty smile appeared on his face. "Maybe so, but powerless doesn't mean useless. I activate the Spell Card, The Phantom Knights' Rank-Up-Magic Launch! **Xyz Chaos Evolution!"**

"What the -" said Fawley.

As the card appeared, a castle started to rise behind Morag, or rather, a castle-shaped insignia or medal, made from stone, depicting five windows and two towers.

"I've seen something like this before," said Nichole. "Spells like this can summon an Xyz Monster using a lower-level Xyz as the Overlay."

The crest turned into a castle-shaped void, and The Phantom Knights of Cursed Javelin was sucked inside; then the void seemed to turn into a pane of black glass, which shattered. Riding forth from the broken shards was a new Dark Warrior. Unlike the other Phantom Knights, this one had armor that was in near-perfect condition, made of jet-black metal. It rode an undead skeletal horse with barding made of the same black metal, and held a Zambuto made of jagged stone, in _one _hand. Again, its face was obscured by the blue flames, which also burned from its shoulders.

"Tremble before _The Phantom Knights of Break Sword!" _(2,000 ATK)

"I guess that's a _slight _improvement," said Fawley with a sigh.

"You want an improvement?" growled Morag. "I'll give you an improvement. By getting rid of one Overlay Unit, I can destroy _two _cards on the field. So long as one of them is one of mine. So, I choose to use that effect on Machina Air Raider and Break Sword itself!"

A glowing orb floated out of the ghostly Warrior's chest, and was absorbed into the sword, which it gripped with both hands. It made a mighty swing that cut through the flying Machina. But even as the Machine exploded, the sword snapped, and Break Sword shattered into triangles.

"Okay, this is… certainly new," said Dugan. Then he saw an odd, dark mist rising from around Morag.

"Now I can activate its other effect, one of the most dreaded of the Phantom Knights. By destroying Break Sword, I can summon _two _other Phantom Knights with different names from my Graveyard. So, behold, The Phantom Knights of Fragile Armor and Cloven Helm."

The first one they had clearly seen before (1,000 ATK) the second was a knight's helmet with a long, brown plume, hovering over two metal gauntlets, all kept aloft by the ghostly flames. (1,500 ATK)

"Two of them at once?" gasped Nichole.

"Not only _that," _continued Morag, "But their Levels increase by 1. Thus, both are Level 5. Meaning I can Overlay both to reveal the true terror of my deck…"

What happened next was not the typical Overlay Network. Rather than simply being drawn into the portal, it seemed like something seized hold of Fragile Armor and Cloven Helm, which then _rent _them apart, consuming the pieces. Dugan could feel that the atmosphere of the Shadow Duel had changed, the air now tinged with emptiness and entropy, a feeling hard to describe.

**Interlude**

Nichole only waited five minutes before going to get dressed and find the locker. She guessed there was more to this story than Dinah had told her, and she wanted the whole thing. The locker was locked shut, but Nichole knew a thing or two about picking locks, and locker rooms weren't exactly known for high security.

Inside locker 303 was an exceptionally large manila envelope, and in that was a handwritten note and a smaller envelope. She looked at the note first:

_Dear Nichole,_

_Since you're reading this, I'm guessing you didn't have enough sense to run while you had the chance. Well, at least I tried. _

_I guess you've figured out already, the information I gave you came as a result of snooping in a place I wasn't supposed to be. Now Vance has a price on my head, and sooner or later Sven is going to try to claim it. Like I told you, I doubt there's anywhere in the world I could be safe right now. So, I'm taking the fight to Sven. Today. Hopefully, I might be able to take him and a few other Serpents with me. _

_Like I told you, hopefully, what I told you will make you more prepared than I was._

_I trust you know what to do with what's in the envelope. Thank you in advance. You're the level-headed friend I wish I had years ago._

_D_

Nichole was aghast. She was about to tear the other envelope open, but then got a hold of herself, and opened it carefully and cautiously.

Inside was what looked like a typed legal document. She started to read:

_I, Dinah Matterson, being of sound mind and_

Nichole didn't need to read more. She stuffed it in her backpack and dashed out the door, out of the building. Those first eight words were enough to tell her, _this was a will. _Dinah was about to go and fight Sven, with no intention of surviving herself.

_But for the sake of all that's holy, _she thought, _NOT if I have anything to say about it!_

**End of Interlude**

Then the Xyz Monster, all twelve feet tall and six feet long of it, stepped forward. At first it reminded both the Shadowchasers of Underground Arachnid, the dreaded Dark Synchro monster utilized by Rudger Godwin, and it had the same basic shape, a humanoid torso atop a spider-shaped trunk, but at second glance, the upper part was only vaguely humanoid. Hideous, hairless, and covered with a bony, solid exoskeleton, it had long horns, _four _inhuman eyes, a gaping maw full of long, sharp teeth, and two long arms with grasping, serrated pincer-like claws. It had two smaller arms under the long ones, bladed like those of a mantis. While the lower part had the general, if bloated, spider shape, the exoskeleton seemed more like organic stone than flesh.

Still, as horrific as this demon was, even as it drooled while looking at Dugan, he couldn't help but think that what he saw was a… projection of sorts, as if what he was seeing was some sort of decoy image hiding a beast that was even worse…

Fawley, however, was clearly horrified, unable to even look away from the form of Outer Entity Shiggarreb. (2,400 ATK)

Morag waited for a minute or two, waiting for a response. "Nothing to say?" he finally said. "Yes, Shiggarreb _does _have that effect on people." Then the abomination let out an unholy roar, lurching over towards Dugan while raising its claws threateningly. As strong-willed as he was, he was fighting the urge to keep from panicking.

"I see you don't scare easily, but I still have someone else to summon. I activate the Trap Card, Xyz Reborn."

The Trap Card - the last of the three he had set on his first turn - activated, and The Phantom Knights of Break Sword appeared again. This time, however, the horse spooked at the sight of Shiggarreb, and the knight struggled to control the mount. (2,000 ATK)

'Meh," said Morag. "Seeing as the Trap Card also becomes an Overlay Unit for this Monster, I'll use it to use Break Sword's effect again."

He snapped his fingers, and both Break Sword and Machina Megaform shattered. "This time, I'm using the effect to bring back Silent Boots and Ancient Cloak."

Again, the two Phantom Knights materialled, but cowered in fright as the huge Fiend made an aside glance at them. (800 ATK), (200 ATK)

"Not that I need to repeat it, I assume, but via this effect, both become Level 4. And this I Overlay both -" The still-open Network seized the two Phantom Knights, ripping them asunder like it had their two allies, "- to Xyz Summon Outer Entity Chernobue!"

The creature that appeared was, if anything, even more hideous than the first. The mauve-skinned monstrosity was well over nine feet in height, and instead of a head, had two antenna-like trunks, each sporting a sucking orifice at the end. A wrinkled cyst in the center of its bulbous torso burst to reveal a great central eye, weeping a thick paste, and staring at the human in front of it. It had four lanky, thin legs that seemed far too small to support its bulk, and its slavering maw, where all four of its legs met, dripped a foul, syrupy orange fluid. As it rose to its full height, twin whip-like tails uncoiled from its back, snapping, and waving in the air above it. Again, however, this disgusting and vile thing still seemed like a reflection of something even more terrible. (4,000 DEF)

Morag could barely stand his excitement. He never felt more alive in years. And he wasn't even breathing hard. The magical disease that had been ravaging his body for so long, it was _gone. _For the first time in years, it wasn't taking him effort to breathe, and as he soaked in the negative energy his ritual was creating, he was only getting stronger.

"I have to hand it to you humans, this game of yours was an incredible idea! It's almost like… _therapy."_

"Yeah, that's something I'm going to need when this is over," replied Dugan.

The Corgi buried itself in Nichole's arms, whimpering in fear, and Nichole was jealous because she had no place to do the same herself. Dugan looked up at the two abominations as he strained to hold back panic, praying for it to be over _quickly…_

_**To be continued….**_

_One quick note don't go looking for info on the two Xyz Monsters; they are indeed fan made cards, but they will be detailed next chapter._

_Until then, it's time for another trip to Madca's Troupe! Enjoy, and stay safe._

**Shadowchaser Files**

**Madca's Troupe, The Horrific Man-Beast**

_I've said before that Chester's observations should be viewed with cautious skepticism, but _this _time, I believe I can confirm most of what he presents as fact. (Opinions, however, should still be subject to scrutiny.) The incident detailed here was, in fact, the incident where the Shadowchasers first started to take interest in this odd group of entertainers. I'm sure everyone has read a thing or two about Mr. Hank Richards, although frankly, while I trust his expertise on Shadowkind archaeology more than Chester's opinion on _anything, _I'd hesitate to actually follow him on one of his "research excursions". _

The whole concept of a "freak show" can be controversial. I mean, think of it, nobody likes being gawked at or laughed at, even if they are getting a paycheck for doing so. P.T. Barnum himself was criticized for making a profit off people with disabilities (many of them minorities) and encouraging ethnic stereotypes with his freaks. One can argue about this until they're blue in the face, but it doesn't change the fact that the Horrific Man-Beast is another enigma among Madca's Troupe that has even the Shadowchasers puzzled.

The sight of a Bengal tiger pacing ominously in a cage and looking hungrily at any guests who draw near is bound to raise eyebrows. (Especially when Sillesia is maintaining vigil outside the cage, and she usually is when she isn't performing; more on that later.) The fact that this tiger has a pure white coat, an exceedingly rare variation of a species that is, itself, rare. Not to mention that it seems larger than the typical specimen. The reason, of course, is that this is what Mundane humans see; Shadows and Aware humans see something different.

The true appearance of the Man-Beast is a wild and feral creature, with dense hair covering thick, sinewy muscles. Its shape is like a gorilla, but with deadly sharp claws on its hands and feet, and the teeth and ears of a ferocious jungle cat. Its coat is still pale white with stripes, making the overall appearance that of an _incredibly _strong human crossed with the most ferocious tiger you'd ever meet, even while straining against a set of iron shackles.

Sometimes when the Man-Beast gets agitated - or even angry - by spectators teasing him, Sillesia will produce a key and let herself into the cage (often causing the same spectators to gasp) only for the Man-Beast to calm down quickly, and Sillesia to affectionately him like she would a beloved pet. Whatever the case, she seems to have a mellowing effect on him, and yes, there have been many "beauty and the beast" comparisons here.

Some spectators initially believe he's a were-tiger, but quickly dispel that notion once they realize they're watching him on a night where the moon is obviously _not _full. Even though he _is _a were-tiger, one with a condition that seems unique to him.

Confused? To be honest, so was Hank.

**The Chant of the Man-Beast**: I might as well state right here that the Man-Beast's actual name is Raj Sri. At least, that's what he claims. The first time anyone was able to hold a conversation with him, he not only had no identification, he had no pockets he could have held it in.

According to Tonogul, he and Sillesia had been with the Troupe about two months and were working with the Cirque de Moitié (another mostly Shadow-exclusive organization of entertainers) who were touring in the Mumbai area. Everything was, for the most part, an average day for the Cirque, when for some unexplained reason, a whole pack of feral tigers savagely swarmed into the fairgrounds. Well, most were tigers; about four of them were Raj and beasts like him, the pack leader being a female who was even bigger and nastier than he was.

Naturally, the guests and most of the carnies fled, and fortunately for them, a Shadowchaser was present. Fairly sure Hank was anticipating some sort of Shadow-related attack because he quickly confronted the pack leader, and with one swipe of his blade, beheaded her.

That kind of took the fight out of the rest of the pack, all except Raj, who cowered from Hank but didn't flee. Which kind of put Hank in a quandary about what to do with him. At the moment, nobody had any idea this was anything but a beast, and Hank didn't know whether to arrest him or call animal control, and it seemed he had been hurt badly even before the pack had raided the place. Eventually, the folks running the Cirque found an unused cage in their menagerie and used it to hold him while they debated what to do.

For the next few weeks, the Cirque - with the Troupe, who seemed to still be under contract - continued their tour, to Nepal and then Myanmar. As this was happening, their new "guest" was eating, being given medicine (stuff meant for actual tigers, but it worked), becoming stronger and healthier. Now, the Cirque knew a potential attraction when they saw one and seeing as they were debating whether to expand on their menagerie at the time, this one seemed a given.

Then, a little over three weeks after the initial incident, the handler assigned to feed him found that instead of a vicious tiger-man in the cage, there was what looked like a human. Raj had regained human form, having woken up naked, confused, and _very _afraid.

Of course, they let him out, and called the number Hank had left. Raj could remember extraordinarily little except his name; eventually, Sillesia showed up and talking to her seemed to help bring back more memories. He spoke of a place called the Steaming Lands, vague memories of himself and his family attacked by "savage creatures", and how he often looked up upon the full moon in the heavens, something he claimed gave him freedom and release.

Unfortunately, Hank was delayed in arriving, and three days afterwards - after the third full moon of the current lunar cycle had set - Raj reverted to his bestial form. It took _two _tranquilizer darts to restrain him and return him to the cage, and Sillesia sat by his side until he woke up, and for a full day afterwards, when Hank and another Shadowchaser - supposedly an expert on lycanthropes - had arrived.

What followed was a study that lasted three months and three lunar cycles; analysis of blood and genetic samples seemed to confirm that Raj was, indeed, an infected lycanthrope, a were-tiger who had been transformed by another were-tiger. One might make an educated guess that it was the female whom Hank killed; she was clearly a true lycanthrope, as her body didn't become human when killed. Still, they were unable to figure out the nature of the odd "backwards" condition he has. There is no place called "the Steaming Lands" that the Shadowchasers know of. The most likely theory is that it's a Shadowkind name for a place that humans know by another name. Kind of like how a certain landmark in Australia is called Ayers Rock by descendants of British settlers and Uluru by the Aborigines. Problem is, no Shadow currently alive that we've spoken to knows

Whatever the case, the Cirque could hardly keep him as a caged exhibit the way they had planned. After the Toupe's contract with them expired, he left with them (unseen and unnoticed, much the same way the Troupe always does) with a "thank you" and an explanation that he was going with Sillesia and would be available much like the rest of the Troupe, as he was staying with them.

Of course, if it isn't obvious by now, Raj and Sillesia are very much in love, and have become star-crossed lovers to the extreme, only able to express their affection three for each other nights out of every thirty. Why? Well, I don't like to pry, but if I had to guess, I'd say they see in each other kindred spirits, someone trapped in a form not their own, or maybe Sillesia simply thinks he understands her fear of reverting to the form of a beast.

**The Dark of the Man-Beast: **While I concur with most of what Chester says here, there are a few things I can add about Raj.

First, many believe that for 27 days out of 30, he's a mindless beast. This isn't entirely accurate. While he can't fully understand most words said in his presence, he _does _process them and commit them to memory, a memory he can recall to the front of his mind when he becomes human and _can _understand them. The other members of the Troupe have uncovered more than one mole or traitor this way.

He also fully understands the "three times" code and can abide by it on an instinctual level; while not exactly a pragmatic fighter, he's an excellent tracker, and can pinpoint an enemy via scent from miles away.

When he's not with Sillesia, Raj uses the limited time to study and research as much about lycanthropy - both the condition, and the culture of lycanthropes - hoping to make some sense of his origins. He has himself formulated two theories. The first seems the most feasible, that the Steaming Lands is a place on the Homeworld of Shadow, and it is the place where he, as a human, was attacked by a true were-tiger and infected. If this is true, he may ironically have more memory of his past than most Shadow arrivals do.

The second theory is that "steaming lands" is simply the description he gave the place he lived, and that he was never human to begin with. Is it possible that he was once a _regular _tiger who was somehow infected by an odd strain of lycanthropy that forced him to assume a bestial shape, and makes him human under the full moon? Sillesia knows his inner turmoil, and above all else, this is the bond that holds them together.

**Story Ideas: **Any story involving Sillesia will likely involve Raj too. If the Troupe is presented as an enemy, he's her bodyguard and defender. If presented as allies, the best scenario would involve research towards stabilizing both their conditions. Whatever the case, both are committed to protecting the other.

A story involving Raj might also have a sort of "time limit" put on it, with him needing to complete an investigation before his monthly three days are up. Even more nerve wracking might be some sort of poison or curse that he can survive in beast form, meaning he and the other members of the Troupe might need to find a cure before he turns human. (For comic book fans, the "Countdown" storyline from _The Incredible Hulk 364 _through _367 _has the feel of this sort of story.)

As previously stated in Silesia's file, Tonogul is in love with her, but his affection is unrequited. He likely feels some jealousy towards Raj, possibly enough to form a small rivalry with him. For now, though, any schism among the members of the Troupe will have them on the same side, the reason for such will be stated later.


	9. Over the Edge

_Hello everybody!_

_I finally decided to get off my behind and get to writing. It wasn't exactly writer's block, but more like "inspiration block", as in, not inspired to write because of all that's been happening. Still, you can get a lot done when you have so much time on your hands. _

_Now, you might have noticed the interludes that have appeared during this whole fic. I was kind of torn in the original draft of this chapter, as I not only had to switch scenes for the flashbacks, but also scene breaks to show what Francis is doing, and no, I did not forget about him. Ultimately, I decided to take the scenes with Francis out and save them for the next chapter, which will focus on them and Nichole's flashbacks while giving Dugan, Fawley, and Present-Day-Nichole a break. Now, should anyone not like these cutscenes and interludes, I'd welcome criticism and feedback. On the other hand, if anyone would like to see _more _of them, let me know! _

_Finally, if anyone thinks I am devoting too much time to Nichole, I can say now she'll be sitting the second part of "Shackled City" out for the most part; I have plans for more flashback episodes with Francis to name just one, and for other Shadowchasers to show up in the main storyline. If anyone has any suggestions, just let me know! While I can't please everyone, I'll try my best._

_I couldn't provide a Shadowchaser Files this time, but I promise to have one next time. _

_So, while you're considering that, onto the next chapter._

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**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

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**Part Nine**

**Over the Edge**

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Dugan had hardly been the first person to assume, wrongly, that Fawley was a specialist of the School of Transmutation. Many students and colleges had assumed as much, given his interest and expertise in the subject, but just because a teacher shows personal interest in something doesn't mean he'll devote his entire career to it. Fawley was known as an expert in Transmutation, Evocation, Illusion, and Elementalist magic, and had some skill in all the other schools of magic except Necromancy, for obvious reasons.

Conjuring and Summoning, however, was something he tended to avoid for personal reasons (to make a very long story short, he had a longstanding rivalry with a cabal of warlocks) but he did do his fair share of research on the powerful extra-dimensional beings that were referenced, channeled, spoken too, and occasionally summoned by such wizards. It helps to "know thine enemy", after all.

And in some of his studies, he had found references to the primordial spawns of Chaos whom no sane wizard would attempt to parley with.

Shiggarreb and Chernobue were hardly the most powerful spawn of the Great Old Ones but were some of the most ambitious. Few demons ever _wanted _mortals to summon them (they regarded even associating with such wizards to be a waste of time) but these two had such a craving for corruption and destruction that few could comprehend. Oftentimes, ramblings of madmen confined to padded cells in asylums were portents from these two entities, containing words that those knowledgeable enough - and foolish enough - could recognize as clues to find eldritch tomes that could be used to channel their masters' ancient, unspeakable power.

And now, even though he knew these two summoned Duel Monsters were only reflections given pseudo life, he could barely keep from cowering from two of the dreaded Elder Evils…

Dugan, of course, had no idea what these things were, and ironically, not knowing the story behind these things may have prevented him from panicking. He had heard of cards called "Outer Entities", a group which, along with "Old Entities", and "Elder Entities" combined Fusion, Xyz, and Synchro summoning into one overall strategy.

He searched his mind for something to say, but Morag spoke first. "Impressive, isn't it Mr. Dugan."

"Easy for you to say," Dugan replied, "you're not standing in the spot where you have to _look_ at them."

"Point taken, but these two Fiends still have a wide range of impressive - and lethal - talents. For example, as you can see, Outer Entity Chernobue has a respectable Defense Score of 4,000, although it loses 1,000 for each Overlay Unit it has." (2,000 DEF) "Which is fortunate for you, because as Chernobue is in Defense Mode it is still my first Main Phase, it can deliver damage equal to half its current Defense Score."

The sickly green blast of light that shot from the abomination's eyes made Dugan clutch his stomach as a wave of nausea wafted through him. Even Nichole and Fawley felt sick just watching it. "Bastard…" groaned Dugan.

**(Dugan: 5,000) - - - - - - - - - - - (Morag: 6,000)**

"I'm only starting, Mr. Dugan. Now I'll explain one of Shiggarreb's talents. You see, while Chernobue has lost a lot of its Defense Power, Shiggarreb prevents you from attacking any Outer Entity except her. But if you think she has only _defensive _abilities, think again. Shiggarreb, destroy Machina Air Raider, _Howl of Bedlam!"_

While he called it a "howl", it was more like a scream. A shrill, terrible howl, sounding like a cacophony of damned souls from the deepest pits of hell, screaming in anguish. As Air Raider was smashed to pieces, Dugan himself screamed, dropping to one knee and dropping his cards in order to clasp his hands over his ears…

There was a long pause in the duel, as Dugan started to drag himself back up to his feet. "I'm actually impressed," said the stalker, "for a minute there I thought you were finished. It's a wonder your superiors never promoted you to Colonel."

"You're not the first one to wonder that" growled Dugan.

"Fawley," said Nichole, softly. "Fawley? Fawley!"

The moon elf was startled at the third mention of his name, having become too transfixed on the two abominations to notice the first two times. "What?" he asked with a whisper in a tone that might have defeated the purpose of whispering.

"You notice something unusual about that guy?" asked Nichole. "He's… _changing."_

Fawley looked at Dugan's foe, squinting a little as he did, and he seemed to see what Nichole meant. Dugan had started the duel against a foe who looked malnourished and gaunt; the stalker looked muscular and healthy now, the sores on his chest having healed completely.

And he wasn't the first one to notice it. Dugan looked his foe in the eye with suspicion.

_He's onto me, _thought the stalker. _Must finish the ritual before he has a chance to stop it prematurely! _

"Now it's time to use one of Shiggarreb's abilities. When she defeats a monster by battle, that monster doesn't go to the Graveyard, it becomes an Overlay Unit for one of my Xyzs."

"No… way…" said Nichole.

Unfortunately, he was serious, as an orb of light floated upward from where Air Raider had been, floating over to Outer Entity Chernobue. Its drooling jaws opened, and it swallowed the orb.

"The only catch is, it has to be an Xyz other than Shiggarreb herself."

"Well, if that's the case, it means Chernobue loses another 1,000 Defense Points," noted Dugan. (1,000 DEF)

"True," said Morag with a nod, "but I'm not all-too concerned with that. You see, due to another of Shiggarreb's abilities, you can't attack any monster with the word 'Entity' in its name except her. Assuming you can even do _that_, because to cap off my turn, I'll use the Continuous Spell Card, Price of Power."

This Spell was one that neither Dugan nor Nichole was familiar with. It reminded them of Attraffic Control, except Goblin Attack Force has been replaced by Amazoness Empress, Dark Magician of Chaos, and Belia - Marquis of Darkness, still being kept at bay casually by Lily's outspread wing.

"So long as I have this card, any attack made by either player deducts Life Points from that player equal to 200 times the Level of the attacking Monster."

"Meaning, you won't have to pay a thing, because Xyz Monsters don't have levels."

Morag took another long, deep breath before replying. "Naturally. It is your move."

_It's like he's… _thought Dugan, _inhaling_ _the darkness itself, and it's making him stronger. _Then a revelation came to him, plus a realization that he had to end this _fast. _

He drew a card, then used one very quickly. "Monster Reborn!" he announced, as the holy ankh appeared, causing Machina Soldier to appear again. (1,600 ATK)

"Dramatic, are we?" asked Morag.

Ignoring him, Dugan went on, using his next card. "Iron Draw!" he exclaimed. He lifted his right arm upward, and there was a sound like a rocket as an odd contraption, looking like nothing less than a metal glove propelled by rockets on its fingertips, was launched into the chamber, hovering above Dugan, and then falling downward, covering his right hand.

"With exactly two monsters and both of them Machines, I can draw twice." He did so, then moved them to his left hand as the odd glove shattered. "Next I'll use the effect of Machina Reserbreak."

"You recovered that card from your Graveyard _last _turn," noted Morag.

"And _this _effect is activated by _sending _it to the Graveyard, boosting the Attack Score of another Machina by 1,200 points!"

As he discarded the card, Machina Gearframe whirred and lifted its two arms, the rotary gun barrels on its wrists unfolding again and its Attack Score shooting up to 3,000. It opened fire, Outer Entity Shiggarreb letting out a screech as the bullets started to spark against its exoskeleton…

**The Past**

Nichole had gotten all the way to the subway before she realized she had no idea where she was going. She had gone to find Sven, and right now, Sven could be anywhere. But after sitting down on a bench for a few minutes to think about it, she made a quick call to Rosa at St. Cuthbert's House and asked about the results of the Bears' game last night against the Packers. Upon learning that the Bears had won 24 to 3, she had a good idea.

Sven was a gambler. He gambled playing cards, in casinos, on sports events, and even on the outcomes of reality shows. He was an addict, for sure, and often a sore loser. But if Sven had one good quality, it was his hometown pride. Whether it was the Cubs, White Sox, Bulls, Bears, or Blackhawks, he'd _never _bet against his home team. Of course, he was no fool. The actual wager he made on a sports event depended on his odds and how important such a game was. So, if the Cubs were in a slump and playing the Colts, and the Colts were doing well that year, he'd probably put five dollars on the Cubs. If they were going up against the Brewers (their longtime rivals) he'd bet considerably more.

The Bears and Packers were longtime rivals, and both teams were in serious contention for the playoffs right now, so Sven had likely bet a bundle, and had won. And as Marc often told her, a big win in gambling for Sven meant he'd spend the next day celebrating. Which for Sven meant either Gargold's Steakhouse (a decent, moderately-priced restaurant), the Peppermint Twist Club (an expensive bar and grill, known more for the "entertainment" and the waitresses), or Korova Tavern (this was a brothel with a bar as a front, plain and simple). Since the latter two tended to only be open at night, Gargold's was the best bet.

She got on the subway car and was startled by the one other occupant; again, it was a Shadow, and while she had no idea who he was, his appearance made her uneasy. He was a huge, almost obese fellow, with blue, scaly skin and no neck. His face had an exceptionally large mouth that seemed fixed in a sour frown, with two upward pointing tusks, a large, bulbous nose, and beady eyes. He had shaggy, black hair, and wore an outfit that Nichole initially thought was a muumuu. It was a kimono, but she was never big on Japanese fashion.

While she was still trying hard to be accepting of these creatures who, up to a year ago, she had no idea even existed, meeting a new one always made her nervous. He turned to her when she entered the car, but didn't say or do anything otherwise, so she simply moved as far from him as she could and sat down. As the train started to move, she opened her backpack; now was as good a chance as any to take a good look at that will.

She looked over it and was a little surprised to see both her own name and St. Cuthbert's House listed as beneficiaries. _How did someone like Dinah get mixed up with Sven? _she thought. Then she shook her head. _Probably the same way Marc did._

Looking down at the bottom, she saw Dinah had clearly given a lot of thought into this. It was even notarized. She had no idea who Stanford Hayden - the notary signature - was, but it looked legit.

She stuffed it back in the envelope, then in turn stuffed the envelope in the backpack, then held her in her hands. She glanced up at the board, showing the train two stops away. _Hope I'm not too late. _

After several tense minutes, the train stopped at Jefferson Park, and she stood up. _Okay, Nichole, okay, you can do this. _The doors slid open. _Just keep telling yourself -_

"Hey, hey lady!"

The gruff voice had come from the oversized Shadow. Startled again, she made a dash out the door.

"WAIT!" he shouted. "Damn."

He turned to where Nichole was sitting, as he had noticed - and had been attempting to tell her - that she had left the backpack behind. "Kids today," he muttered with a shrug.

**The Present**

Dugan grunted and held his chest, quickly realizing that Morag hadn't explained the effect of Price of Power very well. It didn't impose a _cost. _It was dealing _damage._

"Wait, hold it, cease fire!"

**(D: 4,200) - - - - - - - - - - - (M: 5,600)**

While the attack had chipped a few points off his foe's Score, it had only seemed to make Shiggarreb angry. The demon seemed to have grown a few feet, now looming over him while drooling foul slime from its jaws with an expression of fury. (2,900 ATK)

"It's even stronger…" he gasped.

"Yes, Mr. Dugan, and all due to Shiggarreb's synergy with Chernobue. You see, if Shiggarreb would be destroyed, I can use one of its Overlay Units from Chernobue to protect her. And that's not all, because that Overlay Unit is then given to Shiggarreb, who via her own effect, gains 500 Attack Points whenever she gains one from a card effect! And don't forget, having lost one of its Overlay Units, Chernobue gains back some of its Defense Score." (2,000 DEF)

"So, that means…" started Fawley.

"I'll tell you exactly what it means," interrupted Nichole. "Chernobue can deal damage to Dugan even if it doesn't battle, and in order to make an attack on it, Dugan first has to get rid of Shiggarreb. But any time he _could _make a successful attack on Shiggarreb, Chernobue can give one of its Overlay Units to Shiggarreb to protect it, which only makes _both _monsters more dangerous, because Chernobue's effect becomes stronger without Overlay Units and Shiggarreb's offensive power gets stronger _with _them! And even worse, Shiggarreb can fuel both by consuming Dugan's monsters!" She stopped to go over that again in her head for a few seconds, then nodded and said, "Yeah, that makes sense, it's like a loop!"

"Surprised?" asked Morag. "You humans should have listened to Lovecraft rather than write him off as some eccentric writer. He knew better than anyone that humans and Shadows alike are looking directly into their own doom without even noticing." The eerie darkness around Morag seemed to wrap around him like a dark cloak. "Yes, you humans think you're the masters of this world, your self-imposed ignorance shielding you from the truth, the horrible truth of reality that would drive you to madness…"

_Oh brother, NOW who's being dramatic? _thought Dugan, but the dark specter went on.

"_The true masters of this world held domination long before you crawled out of the primordial muck. They will someday come to take it back… Cthulhu _will _break free someday, and..."_

"All right KNOCK IT OFF," demanded Dugan, his patience clearly having been spent. Morag was startled, breaking out of his trance and nearly falling over.

"I swear, it's like I'm dueling Ming the Merciless sometimes! I've dealt with you jerks more times than I care to count, and believe me when I say this, that stuff is getting old. Yeah, I've read Lovecraft before, thanks mostly to someone I know who convinced me to read the stuff, and while I'm willing to accept that a lot of his work wasn't _complete _fiction, he _did _write a few stories that suggest we _do _have a fighting chance.

"In fact, given how we left Cthulhu and his cult about thirty years ago, I doubt he'll try to set foot out of R'yleh again for a _long _time."

"Wait, wait, hold it, _what?_" The look on Morag's face seemed to combine confusion, fear, and shock. _What the devil? _he thought.

"It's still my turn, gruesome," continued Dugan. "Machina Gearframe, Union mode!"

The Machina made a salute and then… fell apart. Well, more look _took _itself apart, its limbs and head separating from its torso like a LEGO toy. The silvery parts of it seemed to dissolve, and the orange parts of its limbs splitting it two, then latching themselves to Machina Soldier's limbs. Then the torso unfolded and fit itself over Soldier like a breastplate, and finally, the head lowered onto it like a helmet.

"Next I'll move Soldier to Defense Mode," he said, Soldier kneeling and shielding itself with its blade-arm. (1,500 ATK) "And it's your move."

Morag's hand actually trembled a little as he made his draw. In truth, he had always been skeptical of even the existence of the Great Old Ones, something this Shadowchasers seemed to be confirming.

**The Past**

_Now this is weird._

It certainly was. Gargold's Steakhouse seemed normal for this time of day. The smell of beef, French fries, mushrooms, and onions were prevalent, the salad bar was stocked, and an old Garth Brooks tune was playing on the Seeburg machine. Still, the restaurant seemed to lack one important thing - customers.

_The cashier and waitresses are gone too, _she thought, as she walked through the place. _Did an alarm go off or something?_

As she walked up the three steps to the slightly elevated section of the dining area, someone - she didn't see who - slipped some coins into the Seeburg, and a new selection was chosen:

_Every breath you take... every move you make_

_Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you_

_Every single day... every word you say_

_Every game you play, every night you stay, I'll be watching you_

Nichole took notice quickly, not just by the sudden change of music genre but by the lyrics. She turned and went to investigate the machine, the atmosphere in the restaurant suddenly turning less cheery and a lot colder.

**The Present**

_Where did I go wrong? _thought Morag. _Too much melodrama and not enough factual statements? Damn, I wish there were manuals to consult about this sort of thing." _

"I can still use Chernobue's effect!" he shouted out loud. "Ectoplasmic Storm!"

Again, the demon spewed vile green sludge at Dugan, but this time, while he did feel nauseated, it wasn't quite as bad this time. In fact, he now seemed _annoyed. _

"Is that supposed to terrify me?" asked Dugan. "You know, we have to deal with physically ill Shadows a lot, and even the ones who _want _to go to the hospital tend to sneeze, cough, spit, puke, and worse, to say nothing of the ones you have to restrain in order to get them there. In retrospect, when you look at it, that was no worse than what we got from that gang of drunk kuo-toas we dealt with last month."

"Oh man, I _definitely _remember _those _guys," said Nichole.

**(D: 3,200) - - - - - - - - - - - (M: 5,600)**

"ERASE THAT THING FROM EXISTENCE!" ordered Morag, and again, Shiggarreb howled with rage, but this time, while the enhancements it had gotten from Gearframe shattered, Soldier itself withstood the blast.

"Guess in your 'crash course' on Duel Monsters that you took, you never read the part on Union Monsters. Since Gearframe was Union Equipped to Soldier, only Gearframe is destroyed. Which means your masochistic hentai poster boy over there can't use its effect to absorb it."

"Dugan is certainly tempting Fate here," said Fawley, out of the side of his mouth.

"I kinda see his point, though," replied Nichole. "Things like this get a lot less scary once you compare them to everything else these guys throw at us."

"Uh, speaking of which, you guys didn't actually…"

"Before my time," she answered quickly, "ask Jalal.'

Morag considered his options for a minute, looking at his limbs and torso as he did. The ritual had worked; not only had the degeneration stopped, it had reversed itself. He felt stronger and younger than he had in decades. Still, he couldn't help but be slightly nervous regarding what Dugan had said. His tirade a minute ago had been an act; he had always been skeptical of the existence of the Great Old Ones, something Dugan was now confirming with a straight face.

_Maybe the smart thing would just be to ditch this whole thing now. Not like I could garner any further -_

Then, his incredibly sensitive ears heard chittering and snickering behind him. The creepers were watching, waiting like a pack of hungry hyenas. Of course, they had always done that, but _this _time it was in a tone like that of hyenas who had lived on carrion for years and saw a chance at fresher meat.

_First rule of obtaining power, no matter how strong you become, _never _assume you're invincible. _

He had never shown weakness before, and as he drew his next card, he knew now was _not _the time to start. Especially in front of creatures who knew where he slept. He set three cards - his remaining hand - into his Disk, causing them to appear in his Spell Zone, and then said, "Done."

"All right then, I draw," started Dugan.

"And then I'll drop 2,000 of my Life Points to use the Spell Card, Ties of the Brethren."

"He has got to be kidding," said Fawley.

"Believe me, Dugan does _not _kid," replied Nichole. "That's why he's in charge."

**(D: 1,200) - - - - - - - - - - - (M: 5,600)**

"Using Machina Soldier as a model," continued Dugan, "I can summon _two _monsters from my deck with the same Type and Attribute."

Machina Sniper appeared first, kneeling in Defense Mode. (800 DEF) Then, Machina Defender - a bulky, squat robot with no arms, very thick legs, and two missile launchers - also appeared in Defense Mode. (1,800 DEF)

"If that's a 'Defender', why is it better armed than the Soldier or Sniper?" asked Fawley.

"You're not helping," sighed Nichole, rolling her eyes.

"Well, let's see then!" said Morag. "I use the Trap Card, All-Out Attacks!"

"Crap!" exclaimed Nichole, "that card forces all Special Summoned Monsters to Attack Mode, and then compels them to attack!"

It seemed only too true, Sniper standing up and Defender lifting and aiming its turrets. (1,800 ATK, 1,200 ATK)

"Actually, they _can't _attack this turn, seeing as Ties of the Brethren prevents me from conducting my Battle Phase at all."

At first, Morag looked annoyed. Then he cracked a smile and started chuckling, then actually laughed.

"You are, indeed, tenacious, Mr. Dugan, I suppose all that fanfare about the Halls of Montezuma and Shores of Tripoli wasn't just empty boasting."

"Damn straight!" he replied. "So, I'll set one card, then end my turn."

Morag drew, a scowl appearing on his face when he saw what the card was. _Could have used this two turns ago, _he thought._ Ah, well._

"Again, I use the effect of Outer Entity Chernobue,"

"You call _that _a storm?" asked Dugan, almost sounding bored as the vile green fluid hit him for the third time. "More like Ectoplasmic Drizzle this time."

**(D: 200) - - - - - - - - - - - (M: 5,600)**

_It's one thing to be brave and quite another to be foolhardy, _thought Morag. _He's down to only 200 Life Points, he'd be done in by Price of Power even if he tried to attack with a Level 1 monster! _He turned around slightly, noticing the greedy eyes of his followers watching his every move.

_Well, I hardly need to use this, but at least it should end this duel on a high-note and show those miscreants once and for all who's in charge here. _

"Trap Cards open!" he announced. "The first is Escape from the Dark Dimension, which summons one of my banished Dark Monsters from the space between spaces! And the second, is The Phantom Knights of Tomb Shield."

Of course, Dugan quickly recognized Silent Boots as it stepped out of the dark portal created by the first Trap Card. (200 ATK) The second, however - yet another Trap-Monster - barely looked like a creature at all, being a floating, crest-shaped shield with iron chains crossing the front in an X-design. The only clue that it was a living (or maybe undead) thing was the ghostly blue flames around it, which by now, was losing its novelty. (0 ATK)

"Now I use the Spell Card… Grasping Tentacles of Nyarla!"

What happened next, Nichole would later describe with one word: "nasty". Even Dugan was shocked to see two black, writhing tentacles erupt out of the ground, each seizing one of the two hapless Phantom Knights and lifting them off the ground. While Tomb-Shield didn't seem to react, Silent Boots struggled and flailed his legs as the thing started to strangle and crush him.

"Before this goes any further, as payment for this card, you draw twice."

Dugan did so quickly, hoping "going further" meant putting the two monsters out of their misery. Once he did, they were dragged underneath, causing Chernobue's Defense Score to fall to 1,000 and Shiggarreb's Attack Score rising to 3,400.

"I'm assuming this means those two Phantom Knights are now Overlay Units."

'You catch on fast. Now… DIE!"

Outer Entity Shiggarreb focused her eyes on Machina Sniper, and her jaws opened _far _wider than logic should have permitted it to.

"C'mon, come and get me," dared the Shadowchaser, "you bastard lovechild of the Osmond family and a reject from a badly dubbed Sentai…"

The rest of what he said was drowned out, as the abomination's Howl of Pandemonium caused the entire chamber to shake…

**The Past**

Fortunately for Nichole, the thug sneaking up behind her with a tire iron was large (as in, big, fat, and dumb) and cast a large shadow, not to mention having pretty bad BO. Not to mention his size made his stomach an easy target when she spun around and kicked him, knocking him backwards onto a table and breaking it. He was wearing the colors of the Blue Serpents, but it was hard to tell if it was someone she knew or not, as he was wearing a mask covering his head that looked like a jack-o-lantern.

Unfortunately, there were two other Serpents behind him, two males and one female. They were also wearing masks, resembling a skull, grim reaper, and goblin. All of them had makeshift weapons, including a wrench, pipe, and baseball bat.

"A little late for trick-or-treating, isn't it?" she asked. She formed a fighting stance, reasonably sure she could take these guys.

Unfortunately, that was when a much stronger - and much more hygienic - member of the gang, grabbed her from behind. She tried to struggle, but then screamed loudly when a painful jolt of electricity ripped through her torso.

_Stun gun… no fair… _she thought, and then everything went black

**The Present**

_I could get used to this sort of thing, _thought Morag.

Then the dirt and dust started to clear, and a "Huh?" came from the dark stalker.

Sniper was gone, but Dugan was still standing, his Life Points still at 200.

"Your Trap Card…"

"It's called Cure Conversion," explained Dugan, "and lets me sacrifice the monster you were aiming at in order to halt your attack. It also gives me one draw, and if it's a monster, I gain Life Points equal to its Attack Score."

He drew, then flipped the card around, the orange border confirming that it _was _a monster. "Well, Commander Covington only has 1,000 Attack Points, but that's better than nothing."

**(D: 1,200) - - - - - - - - - - - (M: 5,600)**

"Clever; I end my turn, but be warned, that Spell Card I used has an effect I can use next turn that -"

"You aren't getting one!" replied Dugan, interrupting. "Especially now that I've drawn just what I need to get past this barrier of yours. I summon Machina Sniper back from the Graveyard using Iron Call!"

As he used the Spell Card, a loud bugle started to play reveille, and Sniper appeared again, standing at attention. (1,800 ATK)

Then Dugan played another card, causing Commander Covington himself to appear, a smaller robot whose exterior had been built to resemble a field uniform with a tie, riding pants, and a conical helmet. (1,000 ATK)

"And with him here, my Machina Monsters can unleash their true power! Combine!"

As he lifted his hand, Covington did the same, and the three other robots, much like Gearframe, started to change shape. Soldier's head separated from its torso, while the torso and legs spread apart. Defender's missile turrets and legs detached, its legs latching onto the lower part of Soldier, the whole becoming stronger, stouter legs, while its body latched to the top and formed a lower torso. Sniper's head also detached, the rest of it creating an upper torso with arms and latching to the lower torso with bursts of steam. Soldier's head appeared on the top, followed by Sniper's head unfolding into a helmet that was lowered onto it. Finally, Defender's missile launchers - now seemingly much larger - unfolded from its back, and a larger, nastier version of Sniper's rifle appeared in its hands. (4,600 ATK)

Morag looked up, stone-faced, at the giant Machine, then chucked, then laughed. He laughed out loud. Something he, admittedly, didn't do often.

"Nice try, Mr. Dugan, that is quite a powerful card, but it's simply TOO powerful!"

"Uh, you know, he's right," said Nichole. "Machina Force is Level 10, and with Price of Power there, uh -"

"It would cost 2,000 Life Points if I attacked with it," said Dugan, nodding his head, "plus the 1,000-point cost I'd have to pay to attack with it in the first place. But the thing is, I'm _not _going to attack with it." He used one of his remaining two cards. "I'm going to use the Spell Card, Gift of the Martyr!"

Using the card caused the colossal robot to _dissolve, _crumbling into golden motes of dust. At the same time, Covington started to _grow. _Its arms unfolded into even bulkier versions of Gearframe's rotary guns and Defender's missile silos unfolded from its back. Now it was big enough to look Shiggarreb directly in the eye.

"This Spell gives Commander Covington the Attack Points of Machina Force!" (5,600 ATK)

Morag took a step back in shock, but then looked at Chernobue. "Bah," he said, "I can still protect Shiggarreb with Chernobue's effect!"

"But seeing as I can use Limiter Removal to increase its Attack even further," said Dugan, as he used his last card, "Shiggarreb isn't the one you should worry about!"

Covington started to grow again, until its helmet nearly touched the ceiling of the huge chamber, looking down upon the two abominations, both of whom didn't seem as impressive as they were before. (11,200 ATK)

Morag heard squealing and screaming behind him. He would later see the irony, in hoping this display of power would quash their desire to turn on him. He had succeeded in that goal, but not the way he had intended, as they were now too terrified to follow him either.

_Ah, well, _he thought, _minions come and go, but at least I have what I needed._

Four crosshairs of green light appeared, homing in on Outer Entity Shiggarreb and combining into a red crosshair. "Don't forget, for all this power, Covington is still just Level 4, so I have enough Life Points to attack with room to spare. Attack Outer Entity Shinnarreb with Ultimate Artillery Barrage!"

"Uh, Professor, you might want to hit the deck here…" said Nichole.

Unfortunately, neither of them had time to do so via their own power, as the barrage of missiles, shells, and laser beams blasting from Machina Force and exploding around the demon knocked them over, barely giving them a chance to shield their eyes from the blast.

**(D: 400) - - - - - - - - - - - (M: 0)**

"Enemy neutralized," said Dugan, with a long, heavy sigh.

"Hey, where'd he go?" shouted Nichole.

The corgi growled a little again, but then sniffed the air, and barked in a different tone. Morag was gone. Not hiding, he had fled.

It seemed Morag had used some trick of darkness magic to conceal himself and retreat. Only a scorched mark on the floor in front of Dugan indicated the stalker had even been there.

Well, one other thing that Dugan noticed. "You gotta be kidding me," he said. He walked to the spot cautiously and picked up something that had been left behind. His wallet. "So that's where it went…"

He opened it to check if anything had been taken. To his utter surprise, everything was there, his credit cards, his ATM card, and even the cash. There was also a note. He unfolded it, and then read it out loud:

_To Major Dugan and his acquaintances:_

_If you're reading this, I can assume our little contest ended with you victorious. No matter. You've given me something I needed that has eluded me for well over a year and solved the problem that had required me to even _consider _working with the swine you'll meet shortly. Should you see him, tell him he should not expect a formal resignation letter. _

_I will abide by my end of the bargain, and no dark creepers or skulks will hinder you or Cauldron from now on, at least not by my order. The other criminals working for that swine or _his _employer, however, I make no guarantee. _

_I do know the swine has a vault with some material you may find useful, but opening it requires a one-word passcode, which he changes every month. Last month it was __Pravemi, and before that it was Goatshead. I'm certain he's changed it again since, but if he uses some sort of common thread, those might be a clue to finding it. _

_I do hope we meet again, though I am certain it will not be soon._

_Morag_

Dugan went back and looked at the word "_Pravemi",_ as he had no idea how to pronounce it, and even less an idea of what it meant. After trying a few times, he spelled it out. "I'm afraid I have no idea what 'Pravemi' is," said Fawley.

Nichole started to think hard. It did sound kind of familiar, actually…

Dugan folded up the paper and placed it, with his wallet, in his jacket, then checked his watch. "It's 5:45, we're cutting this pretty close."

"Then by all means, let's not stay here," added Fawley.

"Uh," said Nichole. She took one more glance at the elevator. Then she looked at the arch in front of her and shook her head, following Dugan and Fawley through the door, into the true Malachite Fortress.

She had a feeling that wherever had grabbed Francis was _less _dangerous than what they were about to run headlong into.

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_And we'll end there._

_Next chapter, said flashback will continue, as will Francis' side of the present story. So, stay tuned!_

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**Outer Entity Shiggarreb (Effect Xyz Monster)**

**Fiend/Dark/Rank5/2,400ATK/2,000DEF**

_2 Level 5 DARK monsters_

**Effect: **Your opponent cannot attack any "Elder Entity", "Old Entity", or "Outer Entity" monster you control except for "Outer Entity Shiggarreb". If this card destroys an opposing monster by battle, you may select 1 Xyz Monster you control except "Outer Entity Shiggarreb" and equip the destroyed monster to the selected Xyz Monster as an Xyz Material. If this card gains an Xyz Material via a card effect, increase its base ATK by 500.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Outer Entity Chernobue (Effect Xyz Monster)**

**Fiend/Dark/Rank4/1,000ATK/4,000DEF**

_2 Level 4 DARK monsters_

**Effect: **This card loses 1,000 DEF for each Xyz Material it has. Once per turn, during your first Main Phase, if this card is in face-up Defense Position, you may inflict damage to your opponent equal to half of this card's current DEF. Also once per turn, if an Xyz monster you control (except for "Outer Entity Chernobue") would be destroyed by your opponent (by battle or by card effect) you may use this card's effect to target that monster; the monster is not destroyed. If you do, take 1 Xyz Material from this card and attach it to the targeted monster as an Xyz Material.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Price of Power (Continuous Spell)**

**Image**: Counselor Lily at her checkpoint giving a scolding to Amazoness Empress, Dark Magician of Chaos, and Belia - Marquis of Darkness, using her spread wings to block their passage. Members of Goblin Attack Force are sprawled and beaten up on the ground around them.

**Effect: **If either player declares an attack, he takes 200 points of damage per Level of the attacking monster.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Grasping Tentacles of Nyarla (Quickplay Spell)**

**Image: **A dirty, disheveled man sitting on a bed in a cheap hotel room, covering his face with his hands. Dark, slimy tentacles sprouting from the floor, walls, and furniture are reaching towards him.

**Effect: **Select any number of DARK monsters you control (other than "Outer Entity" monsters) up to the number of "Outer Entity" monsters you control; your opponent draws 1 card per selected monster. Attach the selected monsters to "Outer Entity" monsters you control as Xyz Materials. You may not attach more than 1 monster as an Xyz Material to the same monster using this card. During your turn (other than the turn this card was activated), if this card is your GY you may banish this card to _[? ? ?]._


	10. Time Out of Joint

_Hey everyone! I hope you're all doing well, weathering this epidemic and the cabin fever that has undoubtedly come with it. _

_I've been busy lately, as I was finally able to go to the dentist and get a cap fixed, and some places are finally starting to reopen around here. I think I may have actually lost weight throughout this whole deal! _

_Anyway, stay safe, and here's another chapter to keep everyone occupied when you need a break from binge-watching the stuff on Netflix. Enjoy!_

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**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

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**Part Ten**

**Time Out of Joint**

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"This place takes 'creepy' to a whole new level."

Dugan and Fawley nodded in agreement. As they wandered downward, deep into the Malachite Fortress, with the moon elf's magical illumination to guide them, they had a constant, clear feeling that they didn't belong here, nor did anyone else. It was like a sinking, ever-present feeling they were trespassing on someone else's property (which of course, they were), and that the owner both knew they were there and wanted them to leave. Of course, this was a possibility that there was no real proof of, yet one that seemed at the front of their mind due to the odd _aura _the Fortress had.

While the walls of this structure were still stone, they weren't the plain, grey granite that Jzadirune was composed of, but a glistering, smooth, black stone called _malachite_, which was obviously where the Fortress got its name. Shining lights on it caused some parts to sparkle and shimmer, while shining it on other surfaces - including the floor - seemed to cause it to ripple. Now and then they passed a column that seemed to undulate and writhe when they saw it out of the corners of their eyes. And almost every surface had runes they couldn't decipher.

Worst of all was the statues, frescos, and murals. All of them seemed to depict a race of Shadowkind they could not identify. Some of these seemed tall, gaunt, and human-like and others were shorter, chubbier. All of them, however, had _six _arms (the tall ones having long, spindly arms, the shorter ones thicker, muscular arms), bald heads with a ridged, sloping forehead, evil-looking eyes, and a single horn on their foreheads. In the case of the statues, these horns were much like the ones on the arch at the entrance, made of crystal and giving off a soft illumination.

"Are those the... entities you mentioned?" asked Dugan.

"Probably," answered Fawley. "Representations of these creatures are all over the island, usually in ruined or abandoned structures. Journals written by Spellmason and his crew mention them, but they had no idea what they are supposed to represent. In fact, one journal detailed how he negotiated with a group of ophidia, and _they _had no idea what they were, claiming they were there when their ancestors settled here."

This comment, along with the fact that ophidia were an ancient race who tended to keep records dating back millennia was not lost on the two Shadowchasers. Fawley continued. "If they were Shadowkind who arrived in this world the same way other Shadows do, they must have stopped doing so. Very eerie indeed. But don't worry, whoever built these structures have been gone for ages." He stopped, shining his light ahead of them. "...probably."

His light shone on a large set of double doors, that seemed to be made of both malachite and bronze, with two murals of the odd creatures etched on each door.

"Be ready for anything," said Dugan.

Of course, as both he and his apprentice knew, as they were reminded of as he started to open the doors, it was _ridiculously hard_ to be _that _prepared.

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**The Past**

"Ugh, where am I?" muttered Nichole.

Her first instinct was to hold her forehead, which was throbbing, only to find her hands were tied behind her. As the grogginess went away, she realized she was in… a classroom?

Yes, this was indeed a room that had once been used as a classroom, and with that revelation came another - she knew exactly where she was. This was one of the two sixth grade classrooms of the Baldwin Elementary and Junior High School, the 6th grade classroom where she went to attend the advanced reading classes when she was in 4th grade. She was never here as an actual 6th-grader; after finishing 4th, everyone in the school had been allowed to start summer break a week early, and a month afterwards, her mother told her she was going somewhere new. Everyone had assumed the building had closed for repairs, and whatever problem it had couldn't be fixed. But that was often how it was in the Hive.

She had remembered how the K-through-5 kids had always viewed this room as a sort of Shangri-La, and how the other students had reacted with jealousy and (with some) reverence, as if she was some sort of "privileged one" for acing the test and getting in the advanced class. She didn't have the heart to tell them that the boring class and extra reading assignments didn't seem as desirable in hindsight.

She stood up, fortunately having been placed in a chair against the wall by her abductors. The desks had been cleared out, along with all the bulletin boards and the meeting table where the reading class was held. A bookcase was there - the one with the books she had always been forbidden to touch or even go near. To her surprise, there were some books left on it.

Curious, she walked over to it and looked at the paperbacks whose titles she could see without using her hands. Again, it was a surprise. She had expected _To Kill a Mockingbird, _or _The Sun Also Rises, _or any of the other books she read when she _actually _got to the 6th grade. These seemed to be cheap fantasy paperbacks popular among young teens, with titles like _Deathtrap Dungeon, The Citadel of Chaos, _and _City of Thieves. _Either the 6th graders didn't want her near their free-reading material, or they belonged to the Blue Serpents…

And then she remembered, at that revelation, why she was here in the first place. She looked towards the door, noticing through the wire-glass window that the guy in the skull mask and the girl in the goblin mask were there, she assumed to guard her. She was about to kick the door to demand answers, but then the male started talking.

"Why are we watching her again?" he asked, his voice revealing to Nichole that it was Brad under the mask.

"Because the boss told us to," replied the female, with _her _voice indicating it was Cora. "You want to complain when he gets here, be my guest."

_Sven is coming here?_ thought Nichole. She got closer, hoping to hear more, confident that if Sven was coming here, she wanted to be as far away from here as possible when he did. While she burned for revenge against him, she knew trying to fight him would be suicide.

"He could have at least left something to eat here," said Curt. "I'm starving."

There was a long pause before Cora said, "Now that you mention it, I'm hungry too." There was another pause as she checked her watch. "Pretty sure I can run down to the deli before he gets here."

"You sure that's wise?"

"Listen, those shackles are magic, and the door is deadbolted. If she can get out here, the two of us wouldn't be able to stop her."

Nichole was intrigued. She looked over to where the bathroom (or WC as the teacher always called it) and strode over, pushing the slightly ajar door open with her foot. The mirror had a crack in it now, but it was still usable.

As she tried to position herself in a way so she could turn her neck to get even a partial view of her back, she heard Curt again. "Fine, fine, just no pastrami this time, that stuff they have makes me sick."

Nichole saw, to her regret, that her arms were bound by some odd sort of cord, like a piano wire made of silver. She had limited knowledge of magical bindings, but she was certain this qualified. Cora's statement was pretty accurate.

But… Now that she had left, she had the craziest idea...

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Francis was dreaming.

He was at a Fourth of July barbecue, with a half-finished hamburger and can of mostly flat beer on the bench next to him. And he was making out with Becca, his old girlfriend from high school.

The fact that he had not seen Becca for about five years, since she dumped him after first time he had been arrested, didn't seem strange, nor did the he find it odd that he was in the backyard of a house he wasn't allowed within a hundred feet of, for a reason related to the same incident. He barely noticed everything around him start to turn a fiery shade of orange.

He did, however, start to find it odd when kissing her started to feel a lot less pleasant. The taste on her lips started to turn soul and then outright _foul, _and the hot, humid weather around him turned less humid and much hotter…

He woke up, coming eye to compound eyes with the cave fisher, the one that had grabbed him back on the elevator with its angling strand of silk, the obvious reason these giant subterranean spiders had gotten their name. It was making a horrendous clacking and chattering noise, using two of its hairy legs to hold him down as it tried to wind its beastly silk around him. He was lucky he woke up when he had, but even so, he felt nauseous and dizzy, the fisher's poison being what had caused him to lose consciousness in the first place. He screamed, "GET OFF OF ME!" and aimed a punch at its eyes as hard as he could muster.

While it didn't seem to hurt it much, the blow took the spider by surprise, and it squealed loudly, stepping back as Francis pushed himself into a sitting position. His legs had been bound by the silk, but not his arms; he groped for his sword, and as the spider lunged forward again, he stabbed forward at the eyes, and it fell dead.

"Ugh," he grunted. "Not so tough." He looked around. He was in a large room that seemed dusty and fully man-made. He smelled something that could best be described as metal and oil, almost like a garage or high school auto shop class. He'd been in enough chop-shops to recognize the smell quickly. The place was lit by what seemed to be odd lamps, casting the same orange-colored light, giving the impression of fire. Despite this, he didn't feel that heat now; in fact, the room was rather chilly.

Still feeling sick, he groped around in his pocket until he found his jackknife, and once he found it, started cutting through the strands with the large knife. "Damn spiders,"he mumbled. "And the dark elves wonder why nobody likes them…"

When he could finally stand, the dizziness was starting to subside, at least enough for him to look around and investigate. It _was _an auto shop, or maybe a room for storing refuse from one. Bins of scrap metal, oil drums, and crates were neatly sorted along two walls; unfortunately, there was also a nest made of webs, along with quite a few bones and skulls, the stench indicating that these were remains of victims. The other two walls were dominated by garage-style metal doors, two of them apiece, one of which was open.

A few old paperback books were scattered on the boxes. He picked up one of them and looked at the cover, which had a full-color picture of an evil-looking mad scientist and the title, _Appointment With F.E.A.R. _

_WHAT? How could I have missed _this _one? _he thought.

He recognized the franchise, one he had loved years ago, the name of the author confirming as much, and had never read this installment. As tempted as he was to take it and read it, he had other problems to deal with.

This is where he noticed the odd lamps, on both the ceiling and all four walls. They were cages, circular cages hung like light fixtures, holding exceptionally large beetles.

_Fire beetles? _Indeed, that's what they were, Shadowkind vermin that were named for the glowing red glands on their undersides and abdomens which shed light. Like fireflies, only brighter.

He couldn't help but admire the ingenuity. Whoever was using this room was using these bugs as lamps!

Then something occurred to him. _Who _IS _using this room? _Most of Jzadirune was deserted. This room seemed to still be in use. But by who?

Cautiously, he moved towards the one open door, but stopped when he heard a familiar clacking sound…

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Beyond the double-doors - which to their relief, was the ordinary variety, with no booby traps for a change - they found themselves in a long hall, at least sixty feet in length. A pair of empty iron cages were suspended from the ceiling at opposite ends of the hall, dangling a good seven feet above the level of the floor. In the center of the room stood an unusually fashioned pedestal, an irregular elemental that looked to be a misshapen lump of rough-hewn stone. Jutting from the pedestal were four jutting arms of stone, topped by crystalline points (very much like the ones in the foreheads of the statues), pointing in the four main directions of the compass. The only other obvious exit was a door down toward the end of the hall in the east wall, near the second cage.

Warily the companions entered the room. They nervously shone their lights on the cages, but found no occupants, living or dead.

"_That _doesn't look very friendly," said Fawley, pointing at the squat stone column.

Dugan and Nichole nodded to each other, and Nichole carefully placed Starbrow down. The puppy whimpered a little as she and Dugan started towards the odd pillar.

Then he barked loudly and howled. Dugan took the hint, aimed his blunderbuss and fired. The bolt hit the column, but barely left a blemish on the stone.

"Why did you do that?"

Fawley's question was answered before Dugan could reply. The pillar shook, looking for a moment like it might fall apart, but only for a second as it lurched into movement, lumbering forward awkwardly but inevitably toward them.

The two Shadowchasers shared a momentary look, then quickly launched their assault upon the strange creature. Fawley joined in, blurting out a hasty incantation and launching five _magic missiles _from his fingers, though like Dugan's enchanted rifle, they seemed to have little effect against the hard stone skin of the thing. Nichole's sword proved equally useless, glancing off its armored skin.

"How are we supposed to hurt _that_?" she exclaimed. Fawley, heedless of the inefficacy of their initial attacks, dug into his inside coat pocket (probably enchanted to hold more than it should have), and withdrew an odd-looking glove made of snakeskin. He slipped it over his right hand as he began a more complex spell.

He was only about half-finished as Nichole and Dugan renewed their attacks, Dugan moving the setting on his weapon to high before firing again, his next shot hitting just below one of the spiky appendages that jutted from the creature's torso and sending a fist-sized chunk of stone flying from its body. Fawley completed the spell and three glowing, flying fists made of pure magical energy - _Bigby's clenched fists _\- darted from his gloved hand, slamming against the elemental and cracking it. Nichole grit her teeth and grasped her weapon with both hands with a dubious expression, as if doubting her next blow could do any better than the last.

But those doubts did not stop her from trying as it lumbered forward to meet them. Nichole dodged its first clumsy but likely-powerful swipe and laid into it with her blade; it struck a glancing blow that chipped away a few small pieces of stone, but still barely hurt it.

From the opposite side of the creature, another blast from Dugan seemed to make it shiver a little. Fawley closed his eyes and concentrated harder, producing a much larger fist that rocketed from his hand. He groaned and held his wrist - the glove's function was to protect his hand, and the spell's power hard reduced it to the burnt lining - but the last fist had squarely hit the creature, knocking it over. Two more blasts from Dugan knocked it further away from them.

The creature was not idle as these attacks landed upon its stony frame. For some reason it seemed intent on avoiding Nichole, causing another of her blows to sheer off stone instead of hitting with crushing force. But it did not restrain itself from charging at Fawley blades-first. The nimble half-elf dodged the first spinning arm, but the creature abruptly reversed direction and stabbed with a second. Nichole almost screamed, but to her surprise, what should have been a horrible stab wound didn't even draw blood.

Of course, she remembered then he was a wizard. "_Stoneskin,_ right?" she asked.

Fawley nodded. "Once you learn _that _one, casting it in the morning becomes as natural as brushing your teeth." He winced and started to peel what was left of the glove off his hand.

Unfortunately, before they could finish the creature, their attention was drawn to the door in the rear of the hall, as it swung ponderously open. A hulking figure trudged into the room, and the blocks of black stone that formed the floor seemed to tremble at its coming. It had the shape of a man, but stood over seven feet tall, its visage was ferocious and bestial, and its arms and legs were the size of tree trunks. It was clad in a fur garment that hung in tatters about it, and caked filth covered its body like a second skin. A falchion of huge proportions hung almost forgotten from one fat fist.

All of them had seen ogres before, but this one was bigger and _much _uglier than most they'd seen, almost like a small hill giant.

"Wait your turn!" Dugan shouted at the brute. "We're not done with this one yet!" He aimed with his rifle and fired at the elemental again, not enough to hurt it, but trying to draw its attention away from Fawley

The ogre regarded them all with a hard look, then just chuckled evilly as it lumbered towards them.

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**The Past**

"HEY out there!" shouted Nichole. She started kicking the door, repeatedly.

"Quiet down!" shouted Curt back. "You want to get zapped again?"

"Curt, seriously, you can take the mask off, I know it's you."

"Oh, brother," he muttered, though he did indeed start to remove it, obviously relieved to finally be able to do so.

"Why am I here?" demanded Nichole.

"Don't know, don't care," he replied. "Now be quiet."

Nichole leaned against the wall and then waited for, by her estimate, about a minute. Then she started kicking the door again.

"WHAT?" he shouted.

Nichole lowered her tone from angry to annoyed. "I have to use the bathroom."

"So, use it! The one in there is one of the few things that still works in this dump."

"How am I supposed to undo my pants when my hands are tied behind my back?" she said, adjusting her tone to 'angry' again.

Curt covered his face with a groan that Nichole could easily interpret as, "Why me?"Then he said, "Nichole, I couldn't untie that cord even if I wanted to."

"Well…" she asked, "could you come in here and undo them for me?"

Curt stopped. He turned around, looking her straight in the face. Half of him regretted he hadn't offered to make the run to the deli himself, and the other half couldn't believe his luck._ "Please?"_ she said, in a cutesy tone.

"All right, all right," he said, "just step away from the door."

Nichole obeyed, taking two steps back; the rattling noise suggested Curt was having some trouble unlocking it, and it took him almost a full minute before it opened.

"Don't try anything funny, okay?" he warned. He was holding the stun gun in his left hand and turned it on for a second or two to prove he was serious. Nichole just nodded, and he placed it on his belt.

"Now hold still here -" he started, coming close enough to reach her belt.

Which was as far as he got. A second later, she lurched her head forward, slamming her forehead into his.

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One giant spider had been bad enough. He was now facing _four _of them.

Even worse, while two of them were other cave fishers, the other two looked larger, stronger, and nastier, like huge tarantulas. Worst of all, the nests of webs behind them full of corpses - many of them wrapped up, fully or partially - showed these spiders had been successful hunters.

He leveled his sword at them, trying to show confidence even through poison-fueled nausea. "Come on you freaks, I've fought uglier."

Then more of the spiders started descending, cave fishers lowering themselves via their spinnerets, and the "tarantulas" crawling down the walls at alarming speed.

"Fine, fine, more of a challenge! Come and get me!"

A second later, the largest spider had "got" him.

It had been directly above him, and he hadn't seen it until it leapt and tackled him, causing him to scream and drop his sword. He was knocked on his back, the foul thing on top of him!

This time, only _one _hand was free, the other (his right hand, no less) pinned by one of its forelegs, and it was all he could do to use his left hand to keep the foul thing's jaws from reaching his neck. Its drool as it looked him in the eye dripped on his face, and he heard the clattering of the others as they crawled closer...

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Facing a deadly new foe in addition to the already dangerous one that they currently faced, the companions hastened to defend themselves.

Dugan and Fawley shifted their aim to the oncoming ogre as it lumbered down the hall toward them. The moon elf's _magic missiles _ripped through the rotten furs that covered its mangy hide, but it did not appear to phase the beast in the slightest as it picked up speed, running toward them. Dugan's shot missed entirely, and he cursed as he dodged out of its way.

Nichole slammed the stone spike again, yet once more her sword failed to do more than jar the creature. She did finally get its attention, though, and the spike shifted toward her, its arms stabbing out toward him. On the far side of it, Fawley used that opening to send one more magical _clenched fists _(screaming and then cursing in elvish as the magic burned his no-longer-protected hand) hurtling at it again, the impact finally making large cracks in its stone armor. Finally, again with both hands on the hilt of her weapon, Nichole drove the weapon with the full force he could muster into the body of the monster. The sword rang as it struck the thing's stone skin, but after a moment of resistance it slid up to the length of its hilt into the elemental's body. The stone spike quivered, a single plaintive sound issuing from deep within its frame, and then collapsed into a heap of shattered stone.

But even as their first foe fell, the ogre rushed towards them with its much larger sword. Dugan looked it in the eye and again switched to the fore-grip of the rifle, now intent on fighting this thing, man-a-mano. Heedless of her exhaustion, Nichole glared at the beast through perspiration-soaked bangs, then charged the ogre, her sword poised in front of her to smite the foul creature.

Fawley stepped back, then chanted a different spell (the best he could with one hand), focusing his view on his two allies, who suddenly felt stronger and invigorated.

"Ooh, yeah, that's what I like!" laughed Nichole, as the _bull's strength _flowed through her.

But the ogre seemed just as eager to meet its attackers, and as Dugan charged it raised its falchion and brought the heavy weapon down in an inevitable downward arc toward the Shadowchaser's head. Not that he had a chance to _hit _him, because as big and tough as this ogre was, Dugan had fought bigger and tougher. As the ogre slashed downward Dugan hurled himself to the side, and the powerful blow crashed into the floor, propelling splinters of malachite in all directions. Dugan's momentum carried him forward, and as he passed by the hulking ogre he slammed the blunt side of his weapon into its side with powerful force. But while such a blow would have laid one of those skulks out on its back, gasping for air, the ogre merely smiled down at him, fat gobs of slobber dripping from the uneven gaps in its ugly black teeth.

_This is gonna be a tough case, _thought Dugan.

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**The Past**

Despite the pain now, the headache she would have for several hours, and the promise to herself _never _to do _that _again, the headbutt had been the very last thing Curt had expected, and Nichole recovered from the stun it had dealt her much quicker than he did. She followed with a kick to the knee, sending him to _his _knees, and finally one to the back, causing him to fall flat on his face.

He was down and the door was open. She ran.

Of course, she only had a vague idea of what she would do now. With her hands bound, she realized looking for Delia - assuming she was still alive - wasn't an option. She was fairly sure she remembered the layout of this place enough to find the main entrance, but realized it was likely guarded. The only plan she could think of was running to the gymnasium and exiting through the backdoor, a steel door that was easy to push open from the inside but impossible to open from outside, opening outward and having no latch or knob on the outside. Hopefully once she was clear she could just yell for help and pray the first police officer she found was an honest one.

Unfortunately, when she slammed her shoulder into the door to the gym and ran into the large room, she was confronted by five of the Blue Serpents. They were still wearing those corny Halloween masks, and had brass knuckles, lengths of pipe, and other nasty weapons. And they had seen her before she saw them.

"Uh… help?" she squeaked.

"Oh yeah, you'll need it, slut," said one of them. As he and the others advanced towards her, the fear inside her vanished, replaced by anger, determination, and the desire to, at very least, drag at least one of these idiots down with her.

"Come and get me," she dared.

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What happened next, was the very _last _thing Francis had expected. As he struggled against the beast's grapple and obviously losing, it let out a loud, blood-curdling shriek as something lifted it up about five feet over him.

Francis scooted away from the spire of rock that had pierced through the floor, like an exceedingly long stalagmite sharpened into a knife. It had missed him, jutting up between his legs (more inches from a… sensitive part of his anatomy) but the spider had been _impaled _pierced through its thorax.

"MOVE!"

The voice had come from Mr. Naicht, who - he assumed - had been grabbed by another fisher, something Francis had _completely _forgotten about. The genasi dragged him out of reach of the other spiders - to the spot where he could easily recover his sword, fortunately - and then waved his other hand, causing the stone floor itself to buckle and undulate, tossing most of the spiders backwards.

Francis took a good look at the genasi. His shirt had been torn and ripped and he had a bad wound in his right arm, but it didn't seem to be slowing him down at all. He was amazed at how muscular this guy was; most wizards he had seen weren't the bodybuilder type.

"So, you _can _talk!" he said with a laugh.

"I make it a point never to do so unless it's necessary." The genasi's voice was low, raspy, and gravely, almost like stone grating on stone in a way that somehow formed words.

While the "stone wave" magic Naicht had just cast seemed to have crushed the smaller spiders, some of the bigger ones were still standing and still advancing, with a few others - from the _huge _nest above - still descending from the ceiling.

"Up for stomping a few more bugs?" Francis.

Naicht nodded, slammed his right fist into his left palm, and the two rushed towards the swarm…

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The ogre lifted its weapon for another blow but turned as a higher voice drew its attention to the side.

"Hey, ugly! Sheesh, do you, like, _bathe_ in your own filth, or what?"

"**I cut you in half, little girl, then I bathe in your blood,"** the ogre said, slicing down at Nichole as she darted in from the flank. But Nichole was quicker, easily avoiding the clumsy backstroke and dashing in to stab her sword into the monster's hairy leg. The blade sank only half its length into the thick limb, but it was quite clear from the ogre's reaction that it felt _that_ attack.

"**I crush you!" **it shouted, rearing up before slamming the injured leg down on the Shadowchaser. She wasn't there when the limb hit, however, having rolled out of the way, and as its foot slammed heavily into the ground, and a puzzled look crossed the ogre's features, right before it felt Dugan's weapon slam into the side of its head.

"Be a good little mountain and just GO DOWN!" he cursed.

"**KILL YOU -" **started the ogre, turning to Dugan, and then howling, dropping the huge falchion as Nichole's sword stabbed into its buttocks.

"I see your brains are as defective as your sense of smell," piped her voice from behind it. She followed up by kicking the brute hard, but the ogre still refused to fall, roaring in pain and rage so loudly that the whole chamber seemed to shake.

_Damn, _thought Fawley, _the whole Fortress probably heard that. _His right hand, though throbbing with pain, was usable again, but using more _clenched fists _was NOT an option. _I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but -_

"Nichole, Dugan, clear out of the way!"

If his command didn't convince them to do that, the spell he was starting to cast - which caused his eyes to glow brightly as electricity coursed all over his body - certainly did, and they tumbled away as two powerful _lightning bolts _crashed towards the ogre….

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Nichole was dying. She was almost certain of it.

Even with her hands bound behind her, two of the thugs - including that one who called her a slut - were on the ground, bleeding, one of them missing at least one tooth. But taking them down had taken all she had. Now two of the others were holding her in a tight grapple, and the third was still punching her. She felt the bruises and could taste the blood from her nose, which was likely broken, along with her ribs…

"All right, all right, that's _enough!" _

The voice was one she had not forgotten, no matter how hard she had tried. _"Sven," _she hissed.

She saw him in front of her now, huge, hulking, ugly, and overbearing. He was half-giant and seemed to have inherited a lot of those traits from his fire giant father. Still, his father was also pretty dumb; by Sven's own account, his father had met his end after insulting a mountain giant, a race of Shadowkind that are often three times as large and strong as a fire giant. Obviously, Sven had inherited his mental skills from his mother, and was admittedly a good leader; the problem was, he didn't lead people to good things. Vain, power-hungry, selfish, egotistical, and wasteful, Sven seemed to combine all the bad traits of a giant king with those of a human gang leader. Years later, Nichole would express that she almost felt sympathy for him, wondering what he may have become had he not squandered his potential.

But not now. Right now, all she felt towards him was hate and rage.

"What's the matter, Sven, are you afraid of getting blood all over the floor?"

'Well, _yeah," _he replied, "that stuff is a bitch to clean up, you know. And take it from someone who knows, if I killed you here, you'd get _more _than _blood_ all over it."

Her response to the sick joke was to kick him in the knee. Unfortunately, doing so was like kicking cement. She closed her eyes tight when the pain hit and would have collapsed right there had two of the Serpents not been holding her up.

Sven held her by the chin, tilting her head up. "You think I would have gone through all this trouble simply to kill you?" His tone was the same an adult would use when scolding a little girl, condescending and disdainful. "I have big plans, Nichole, really big, and they involve a lot of folks, not just you." He crossed his arms. "Bigger than even Chicago now, and it's all starting here."

"Where's Dinah?" she groaned. "What did you do to her?"

Sven looked a little puzzled. "Dinah? Uh, she's right there."

Nichole looked to where he indicated, towards the door she had been hoping to run for. Delilah was there, and she looked different now. Her hair was in a ponytail, she was wearing quite a lot of eyeshadow, and wore leather pants and a bustier (both black) and no shoes. As she made eye-contact with Nichole, she sipped from a paper cup with a soft drink logo.

The revelation came quickly to Nichole, like a hammer to the face. "You set me up."

"Nichole, really," she started, "we figured after that mess with Derrick and Joel we couldn't just _ask _you to come here. Sven just wanted to grab you off the street; but we convinced him doing it this way was better."

"Lying bitch," growled Nichole.

"Lying? Seriously? Nichole, remember when you said you trusted me? I know you're reconsidering that now, but I still hoped you'd trust me after talking to me there. I had you at my mercy in that shower."

"Come again?"

"You think you were safe because I had no way to conceal a weapon? I'm a nereid, Nichole, you know, 'Daughter of the Sea'? Here, let me show you a little trick."

She took the lid off the soda she was drinking, and then her eyes turned brilliant, sapphire blue. A glob of soda extended from the cup, then changed shape into a _hand, _a hand made of soda. It reached across the room, towards the understandably shocked prisoner, and gave her a slap in the face.

Then it started to retract, and Dinah tossed the whole drink over her shoulder. The soda-hand touched the floor, and then propelled itself and the cup into a trash can next to the door.

"All right!" said one of the Serpents, and the ones not holding Nichole started to clap.

"That was about ten ounces of liquid, the communal shower we were standing in gave me access to about forty _gallons. _I know about ten ways I could have killed you the first minute you stepped into the room."

Tears started to run down Nichole's cheeks. She had, honestly, never even considered that. "And all that stuff about how the Serpents working for Vance were slaves in all but name?"

"Oh, I meant that. Just exaggerated about how _bad _I thought all that was."

"You mean, you…"

Delia pushed open the door behind her, and said, "Here, ask him yourself."

Suddenly, Nichole wondered if she'd be _lucky _if they killed her... When Cora had mentioned the boss coming, she hadn't been talking about Sven...

Whatever the case, she was now eye-to-eye with the most powerful Shadow she had met to date. The half-dragon crime lord, Madison Vance.

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Black slime dripped from Francis' sword, residue from the three dozen or so dead giant spiders, many of them skewered by those sharp spires Naicht had conjured up, "Like bugs in a giant entomology display," he said.

"I've had the same thought, but we're not done here," said Naicht. He looked closely at one of the tarantula-creatures. "These are steeders."

"So…. that's bad? We don't like steeders?"

"Wild steeders are rarely dangerous unless provoked, Mr. Mills, like typical predators, they instinctively know that humans aren't the most desirable prey."

"But then," started Francis. It took a second or two to get the point. "These are _trained _spiders?"

In response, Naicht moved the spider's carcass so Francis could see the abdomen. An odd glyph was printed on it. "A brand," he said, and Naicht nodded.

Then they heard a sound from the other room, the one where Francis had freed himself from the first fisher. A sound like a mechanical garage door opening. They turned in that direction to see that this was true for both the doors they were facing.

"Well, isn't this just ducky."

This fight was not over yet...

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_And… _we'll stop there, on those _three _cliffhangers. (Ain't I a stinker?) Still, as I promised, let's have another….

**Shadowchasers Files:**

**Calypso**

_The information in this File comes from Professor H.R. Wermer, the world's leading expert on the culture and society of chromatic dragons. Now, I should add that the requirements to be recognized as an "expert" in this type of research (where the turnover and mortality rates are both high) are wanting the job and managing to do it without being killed. Still, Mr. Wermer's dedication is admirable. It is with his help that the background information we have on Calla and Medea was uncovered, and that we even know of _this _individual's existence and the threat she poses. _

I'm not exactly an "other dimensions and weird worlds" kind of guy (you want that, I'll give you the number for Morgianna's Kin) but I do know that one axiom of the multiverse is the Rule of Three. Quite simply, three is the most perfect number, see two things, look for the third. We've already told you about Calla and Media, so it was always suspected that the Queen of Dragons had a third agent promoting her machinations on the mortal world.

As mentioned before, Medea has claimed at times to be _the _Medea, the King Aeëtes who fell in love with Jason, only for him to reject her, leading to her delivering brutal revenge. Calypso has not, to my knowledge, claimed to be the same Calypso who kept Odysseus as both a guest and prisoner for seven years in a vain attempt to convince him to love her. It's likely she was inspired by Medea to adopt a mythological _nom de plume, _or vice versa. If she _is _the true Calypso, then Homer missed one important detail, as _The Odyssey _never hints that the famous temptress is a half-dragon.

Now, I have no idea who her parents were, as I'm not even sure of her exact age. Allies of the Shadowchasers have floated the notion that she's a daughter or granddaughter of Malys herself. As for her human side, names mentioned as possibilities range from Charlemagne, Catherine the Great, and even Delilah, but it seems likely her human parent was just a commoner, and given the dispositions of evil dragons, may have not been a willing spouse.

Whatever the case, Calypso is, like Medea, a woman who stands out, her richly tanned skin, flowing, waist-length blonde hair, and enchanting green eyes, enough to catch the attention of mundanes and Shadows alike, although Awares and Shadows also see her unnaturally sharp features and pointed ears that betray her heritage.

Just looking at her - or even if talking to her - doesn't give any impression that she's a dark cultist of an evil dragon-god. A lot of the time, Calypso is a free spirit who loves to socialize and party. She often frequents nightclubs, bars, raves, and other social gatherings. Cost is never an option (a benefit to working with Shadows known for their hordes) and often tries to stand out as much as possible. It's only when she's "on the clock" and pursuing her "plan" that she becomes dangerous.

Whatever the case, Calypso is Tiamat's loyal proxy, with a specific goal - "diplomacy". Her goal is to find other dragons who lair in the mortal world and convince them to pledge allegiance and loyalty to Tiamat.

Now, many readers may ask, why is this necessary? Aren't _all _evil dragons loyal to their queen? The answer is no, far from it. Indeed, "Queen of Dragonkind" is a self-title and confers no real authority at all. Dragons are greedy, selfish, egotistical, narcissistic creatures, they despise the idea of sharing, and _loathe _the idea of serving higher powers. Sure, they respect and admire Tiamat, but to convince one to actually call her "master" takes a lot of effort, a great deal of persuasion, and an exceptionally good reason for them to do so.

This is where Calypso comes in, with her three-part plan:

**The Hook: **The first part of the plan is to locate the dragon Tiamat is interested in, and approach with negotiations in mind. (As in, find it when it's in a good mood.) Calypso never takes the direct approach, and never does so alone, often bringing Calla or Medea (or both) for backup. A common tactic is to convince another powerful Shadow that the dragon is moving in on its territory, manipulating events until the mark is caught in a rivalry where it needs help to persevere. Once that happens, Calypso approaches with an offer of alliance, usually promising whatever the dragon desires, be it land, political power, valuables, sacrifices (animals or humans, depending on the dragon's tastes), magic, knowledge, anything such a covetous beast might desire.

The kicker is that Calypso _always _offers herself as part of the deal, either as a servant or slave. _On the condition _that she be allowed to act as intermediary to Tiamat.

How she does this depends on what is most practical. A common trick is to have an accomplice take the role of the negotiator, offering several slaves while Calypso poses as one of them, or make the entire deal through intermediaries. The other slaves offered are usually accomplices too; Medea never misses the chance to get near a dragon's horde.

Whatever the case, once the deal is made, Calypso lives up to her side of the bargain for a while, watching as her "new master's" wealth and influence grows. (Naturally, this is a long-term plan that will take years, possibly decades, to complete. She has the time.) Then comes stage two…

**The Line: **Naturally, the condition placed on the deal is to ensure the beneficiary does not try to _eat _Calypso, and it usually works. Despite having little actual loyalty to Tiamat, any smart dragon fears her, and isn't eager to break the conditions. Calypso always has an escape plan (or a few) in case the dragon does decide to renege on it. Usually, however, she'll be a constant presence for years, in which case, the dragon will usually see another opportunity, taking Calypso as a wife, consort, or concubine. Which is exactly what she wants.

Dragons have the same drives as any sapient beings, and the same lustful urges, but as has been stated elsewhere, have limited choice of mates among actual dragons. Most of them thus take the same route Jalal and Judy's fathers did, usually learning magic to assume a more pleasing and more, uhm, _compatible _form. However, when a half-dragon couples with a true chromatic dragon, it's possible the offspring is something called a Dragonspawn, a powerful mutation caused by the divine touch of Tiamat herself. Calypso, however, seems far more likely than most to bear such a child; via Tiamat's vile influence, she is a surrogate mother for her true master's brood.

Why allow herself to become a glorified breeding slave? Power, most likely. It is indeed an ironic fate for a woman known as a temptress and seductress, or maybe she was chosen for the role _because _of it. But as of present, Calypso has four children via this method via different fathers. When she does bear a child, step three occurs.

**The Switch: **Eventually, the role of master and servant switches in all but name, and Tiamat can manipulate the dragon effortlessly. She is then able to move to a new target, and Tiamat can extend her influence through the dragon, through the Dragonspawn offspring, and through a global multi-layered network. It is already known that many organizations with Shadowkind origins have already been infiltrated by these Dragonspawn, causing the Queen of Dragonkind to grow in power, influence, and wealth.

Whatever her ultimate goals are, it probably has something to do with her eternal war against her arch-foe Bahamut, and it's even rumored that the entire plan was developed in response to something similar he enacted centuries ago (more on that later).

And Calypso's children? While I'd be foolish to think these are their _actual _names, they're usually identified as Ibris, Djen, Hester, and Gaelun.

I could describe them in more detail, but… In order to give them their due, that is something I will have to save for later.

**Story Ideas: **At least some of Calypso's offspring will show up in later stories in the Shackled City series. Calypso herself is the type that would act as the main antagonist of such a story (no, that is not a spoiler, because she is not). Any story where Tiamat's cult plays a large role should involve her - plus Medea and Calla - sooner or later.

Calypso is _not_ the type of villain who distances herself in some dark lair striking at the Shadowchasers from a distance. She's the type who wants to get close to them and befriend them, flirt with in a bar or nightclub, that sort of thing. To get a feel of how she'd operate, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _(mostly regarding Buffy's interactions with Angel and/or Spike) _Kim Possible _(Kim and Shego), and _Lupin III _(Lupin towards Zenigata) are good shows to watch for pointers on how such affection might work. She'll likely only become lethal in the "third act" of the story when Tiamat's true goals come to light, whatever they may be.

Naturally, Calypso's current "paramour" (or intended paramour) would be a villain in any such story, likely as a more visible and dangerous antagonist. If so, such a dragon might be a more complex character than even Calypso. Unlike say, Smaug, such a dragon would have more of a presence in a local community, possibly controlling a city via officials used as puppets or manipulating events through the _xorvintaal _(again, more on that later).

**Deck Ideas: **Calypso always uses Dragon monsters with an odd strategy, using Fusions, Synchros, _and _Xyzs, all boosted by the Field Spell, Dreamland. She does have a copy of F.G.D. (a card long suspected of being the image of Tiamat herself) but only enemies she respects as equals will "earn" the "privilege" of being crushed by it. She might use a deck with a more lighthearted theme if the situation warrants (like say, Dragon Maids) but always has the F.G.D.; that is her version of Jalal the Dragonborn, and she is never without it. Most cultists she associates with have it to, and use various other Dragon-themes, including Chaos Dragon and Dragon Revival. Never Level Dragon however; Tiamat doesn't get along with Horus at the best of times.


	11. Double Take

_Heloooo fanfic fans! How's everyone doing?_

_I know, I know it's a living hell, right? This whole mess has gotten everyone on edge and ready to snap, but to be honest, I'm doing my best to see the bright side of it. While my electric bill was through the roof due to how much I've been using the air conditioner, I've actually lost 30 pounds since this pandemic mess started! Helps when you can't go downtown and pig out at McEDs._

_Anyway, hope you all have time to read this chapter of this first part of Shackled City (which I estimate will be done after two or three more) and as always, stay safe._

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**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

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**Part Eleven**

**Double Take**

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_**The past…**_

One of Nichole's old teachers whose name she couldn't recall now once told her how important it was to always put the most effort into the first impression you make on someone. "You'll never get a second chance at a first impression," he had said. It seemed obvious, but it made a lot of sense. If an orc warlord named "Kundred the Blood-Drinker" stands in front of a crowd and boasts of how he and his soldiers burned down a village, murdered their men, violated their women, and ate their children, wearing the heads of victims on his belt, it's likely going to inspire terror or panic. But if his fly is down when he does so, anyone brave enough to stand up to him is going to remind him of that the first chance he gets.

The first impression Nichole got of Madison Vance was of someone who had followed this policy flawlessly.

He was _very _tall, and muscular, but not the way Sven was muscular. Vance was both lean and solid, much like an Olympic level swimmer, almost… _serpentine, _but with excellent posture. His skin was pale, and his neatly trimmed and styled hair was pure white, nearly shimmering. The part about him that most stood out were his blue eyes. Not sexy-blue eyes like Paul Newman, but an eerie shade of blue that seemed almost hypnotic.

And then there were his clothes, which Nichole quickly estimated to be worth more than a moderate-sized house. His black suit seemed to be Italian and made of virgin wool, obviously custom-tailored. His shoes were spotless, and he wore black gloves that covered hands that, again, seemed both strong and dexterous, his fingers slightly longer than normal. His watch was either a Rolex or some Shadow-exclusive brand that was even pricier.

In short, if the Almighty Dollar were an actual deity, Madison Vance seemed a candidate for its high priest.

"Hello, Ms. Belvins," he said. His voice was just as mesmerizing as the rest of him, soft and formal, but one you could simply not ignore. "So glad to finally meet you. Oh, I doubt we'll need those any longer."

With a simple gesture, the metal chains binding her arms loosened and undid themselves, falling to the floor with a clatter. Nichole rubbed her wrists as the formerly cut-off circulation started to return. She wanted to make a lunge for him; but as Donnie himself had told her, "choose your battles wisely".

Still, if there was one thing she _could _do, it was play his little game a while longer, hoping some option would eventually provide the miracle she needed to escape.

"Can't say I feel the same way," she answered. "Is this your usual way to hold job interviews?"

"Why, yes," he replied. "In fact, I must say you exceeded my expectations here. Five seconds more and you'd have done even better than Delia did."

It took only the smug look from Delia behind him for Nichole to realize _he was serious. _"So, uh, I almost got her job then?"

Delia's smug look disappeared, but Vance nodded. "You likely have questions, Ms. Belvins, about the Blue Serpents, why I brought you here, and everything else Delia told you." The look of horror from Nichole made him quickly add, "NO, no, I wasn't _watching_ you when you had that conversation."

"Actually, Vance, I'm starting to catch on," she answered. "You pay the Serpents to do what they do, rob the shopkeepers, mug anyone who comes in from uptown, fight with the other gangs. After a while South Deering becomes a crime-ridden slum that most respectable businesses won't touch, and then eventually, you can buy it for peanuts, then level the place to build condos and mini-malls."

"Look, if you think I'm going to -"

Then she stopped, her mouth went dry, and she felt a chill. By some odd trick, Vance had moved behind her, and his hands were on her shoulders. She wanted to scream, but somehow, she could not.

"Nichole, you may think I'm some greedy plutocrat and tycoon; maybe that's true and all, but I am capable of sharing. I mean, _look _at this building. The place had every safety code violation in the book. Dry rot, windows that couldn't open, broken fire alarms, lead paint, you name it. I won't even get into what was wrong with the cafeteria. And the reason the Serpents use this place as a safehouse is because it was the _least _dangerous building in this neighborhood."

She was about to reply, but then realized she didn't exactly have a rebuttal.

"They say to make an omelet, you have to break a few eggs. Yes, I am using the Serpents to devalue the property intentionally, but once they do it enough, I can tear this firetrap down and put up a proper school, one with air conditioning and heat, where the food isn't hazardous to the students' health. The condos you mentioned would be affordable enough for students' families to actually _live _within a few blocks of it, and the mini marts would provide employment that would _help_ them afford to do so."

The tone of his voice was mesmerizing, and for a brief few seconds, Nichole almost _saw _what he was describing. No, not _almost, _she _literally _saw it. Briefly she saw the whole layout in front of her, like a waking dream. The moment quickly passed, and she tore herself away from him.

"DON'T!" she shouted. The Serpents who had been restraining her a minute ago looked like they were about to go for weapons, but Vance lifted a hand. "So, now you want me to sign up with you guys to help with all that?" continued Nichole. "Look, I admit it's flattering, but I'm already committed to this other job -"

"Yes, I know," said Vance, interrupting, "St. Cuthbert's House, and to be honest, that's the biggest reason. Wanting to commit your life to charity and all is admiral, Nichole, but be realistic, you can't accomplish much on donations alone. Read the Bible closely, and you'll see that even the Good Samaritan himself was only able to save that man because he had money."

"It was an allegory," she grumbled, though try as she might, it was hard _not _to see his side.

"True, but as shallow as it sounds, Nichole, I look at the world with a more realistic view."

"Oh, right, right, I see, this is the whole 'Sith wants to recruit Jedi angle'," said Nichole with a nervous laugh. "Corrupt the moral opposition and all that. Well, let's face it, I'm no Anakin Skywalker and you're no Palpatine. You have an odd way of -"

Then to Nicole's shock, he seemed to shift again, and was in front of her, his next words in a more normal voice.

"To be honest, Ms. Belvins, that's more accurate a comparison than you think. Sven, show her the poster."

_Poster?_ mused Nichole. _Wasn't expecting that._

Sven did indeed produce a poster and started to unroll it as Vance continued. "I have no intention to oppose St. Cuthbert's House Ms. Belvins, I only seek an intermediary of sorts with them."

"No… fucking… WAY," gasped Nichole. She'd barely heard what Vance had just said, her expletive directed towards the poster…

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_**The Present…**_

"Hold still," said Nichole. As she held Fawley's burned hand, she pointed at it with the wand Jenya had given her and said a brief phrase in Latin - part of a prayer she had memorized - triggering the runes upon the wand. To the wizard's great relief, the burnt skin quickly shriveled into dead skin, and then peeled away to reveal the healthier skin underneath. He opened and closed his fists a few times as the numbness faded.

"You should be able to play the piano again in a few hours," she said with a girlish smirk.

"Really? I couldn't before," he replied, acknowledging the old joke. He looked towards the prone ogre in the middle of the room. "Think he's dead?"

"Oh, I do _not _want to take his pulse!" exclaimed Nichole.

Fortunately, a loud snore from the ogre and drool from its mouth dribbling onto the floor from its huge mouth answered the question for her.

Meanwhile, Dugan had decided to investigate the chamber from which the ogre had emerged but didn't get any further than the door. The stench that roiled from beyond was almost tangible, like a cloud that hung in the air and poured into his lungs with eager tendrils on every breath. Whatever use the room behind the door once had was impossible to determine, as every square foot of it was cluttered with unidentifiable refuse. The mounds of garbage covered the floor, rising and falling in heaps like waves, forming mounds as high as a few feet in places.

Nichole and Fawley could smell it too. "What is in there?" exclaimed Nichole, holding her nose in disgust.

Dugan closed the door again, doing his best to jam it shut. "Nothing important."

"Then I suggest we make ourselves scarce." Fawley got up, looking towards the ogre again, then backing away from it, as it now seemed to stink even worse than before.

_Probably pooped in his pants, _thought Nichole, the thought being both funny and _utterly _disgusting at the same time.

"This isn't a typical ogre, that _lightning bolt _I used would have killed two such beasts. He's going to be in an awfully bad mood when he wakes up."

While Dugan agreed with this notion, the large room didn't seem to have any other exits. He shined his flashlight ahead of them, then towards the wall with the door they had entered, and then saw it.

"There," he said, moving the flashlight to the corner of that wall. The light seemed to reveal the outline of a door, like a rectangular, door-shaped panel on the black stone.

"Professor, I believe this is your area of expertise?"

Fawley cracked his knuckles, then made a gesture along with a few arcane words, and with a soft, jangling sound, the door swung open inward. He and the two Shadowchasers approached, and light and smoke spilled out over them, as they investigated the space beyond.

It was a chamber of considerable size, a room that seemed designed in a perfect square, about forty feet on a side. The ceiling was a vaulted dome that rose a good twenty feet or more above them. Directly under the apex of that dome, in the center of the room, stood an imposing nine-foot statue of one of the strange creatures. Carved of black malachite, that stern-faced figure faced toward them, holding a burning incense brazier in the palms of each hand.

However, something was off. It's two heads did _not _have those odd crystal horns they had seen on the other statues. They did, however, seem to have sockets in their foreheads where such horns might have once been.

Also, surrounding the big statue and in three of the four corners of the room were smaller pedestals that seemed to have once held smaller statues. The biggest clue to confirm this was the heap of stone statue parts in the fourth corner, likely piled up on top of an eighth pedestal.

Double doors were situated in the center of the walls to their left and right, the ones to the right secured with a heavy iron bar.

The three of them spent a minute or so cautiously examining the large statue from a distance, then closer, before finally deciding it was just a statue. Further inspection of the broken pile of statues revealed that a few heads were intact, but also missing the crystal horns.

Fawley concentrated, holding his forehead while concentrating on the pieces. "There's a lingering magical binding dweomer here, the type used to bind elemental spirits to constructs. But fading."

"So, these were golems or something?" asked Nichole.

"Probably not bona fide golems, but likely lesser constructs of some sort. Whatever the case, it seems someone has done this part of our job for us."

The thought of having to fight eight stone golems - even small ones - wasn't a pleasant one, so they focused on looking over the rest of the room. They quickly spotted another door, a panel in the wall opposite the one through which they'd entered that seemed to be of the same design. Leaving that for the moment, they elected to take a quick look behind the barred northern doors. The iron bars were heavy but not secured, taking Nichole _and _Dugan to lift them.

"Careful," remarked Fawley, "this door was clearly designed to keep something _out."_

Dugan nodded, and then carefully pushed the doors open. They were thick, with several layers of thick planks reinforced with sturdy bands of iron. As soon as they were able to get the door open enough to see the dark space beyond, they could hear a whistling sound, a cavernous noise of air moving through vast spaces underground.

Dugan's flashlight cast a glow in a radius just bright enough to indicate that the space beyond was much, _much_ greater. They stood upon a broad stone ledge facing a gaping chasm, over which a stone bridge arced over to the far side. All around them was…. _Dark. _ A great dark, with other faintly audible sounds in the distance that could have been... anything.

After about a minute or so to take this uncanny dark in, Nichole spoke up. "What the devil is this place?"

Fawley's reply was quick but ominous. "The Underlands."

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_**Elsewhere in the complex…**_

There was "outnumbered" and then there was the situation Francis and Naicht were in.

The room they were in was a large gnomish workshop like the others he'd seen in Jzadirune, but unlike most of the gnomish city, it seemed to still be in use, cleaner, well lit - mostly by those odd fire beetle cages - and most importantly, the gang of hobgoblins and goblins staring down at them, armed with brass knuckles, wrenches, clubs, and other unpleasant-looking weapons. Behind them were four bigger, muscular hobgoblins carrying baseball bats that had nails jutting out of the business ends, and behind _them _were four others mounted on two of the steeder beasts, two to each. In fact, it seemed likely their fight in the other wing had caused reinforcements to arrive.

"So, Mr. Mills," said Naicht, as he and Francis backed away from them, "what exactly is the Shadowchasers protocol for dealing with thirty angry hobgoblins?"

"Uh, fifteen apiece?" he answered.

"Oh, you wish," grunted the one nearest to them, who cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

Francis weighed quite a few other options in his head, including surrender, retreat, and shamelessly pleading for his life, before finally saying, "Aw, hell with it," and then charging towards them with a loud scream with his fists clenched and fire in his eyes...

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Both the humans shivered at the word Fawley had said. Most surface-dwelling Shadows and Aware humans had at least heard of that vast network deep underground, a place full of terrible dangers and strange wonders in the legends and fables of those above. Shadows often used stories of the Underlands to scare their children into behaving, telling them how the darkest of the dark would come up from below and grab misbehaving children. Stories by older Shadows told of how deep in the Underlands, entire cities had been built by dark elves whom even their more social kin closer to the surface feared, and how deeper still lurked eldritch horrors like aboleth and illithids. Stories about portals to the Elemental Planes were common, as were pits that led to Hell itself… And possibly even the Far Realm.

"Are you, uh, sure?" Nichole asked. "We can't be _that _far underground."

Fawley nodded. "Trust me, this is an entrance to the Underlands. I can smell it in the air, _feel_ it... all my people can. It makes sense; the beings who built the Fortress must have tapped into the _unique _energies from the depths of the Earth itself for their elementalist and metaphysical sorcery."

For a few minutes, they were entranced, looking into the vast, eerie darkness, until Dugan finally broke through the haze and focused on the matter at hand. "I've heard things about this, and none of them made me eager to explore the place." He tightened his grip on his gun, then shook his head. "And now is _not _the time to do so."

Grimly, they turned and retreated through the door, the statue-chamber, closing it tight and replacing the bars on back the heavy doors behind them. Once they were satisfied that it was secure, they moved around the statue towards the other set of double doors.

Opening them - which was rather easy - hit them with a potent stench, though not as bad as the ogre's room. The chamber within was well organized, decorated, and furnished, but still disturbing. Nooks had been carved into the walls and were festooned with an array of polished skulls of various shapes and sizes. In between those grisly ornaments, poorly cured hides were stretched and fastened to the walls. The center of the room was dominated by a mound of furs - presumably used for a bed - and a great chair fashioned from bones and skins, its high back surmounted by a great lizard-like skull. Behind this, in the far corner, they could see a nest of carrion and sprouting fungi, likely the source of the rank odor that filled the place.

Most shocking, however, were the mounted trophies on the walls, preserved heads of - they assumed - creatures the occupant had killed. Only three - a mountain lion, owlbear, and wildebeest - were those a sane hunter would consider quarry. There was also the head of a dark elf, a bugbear, and a victim they couldn't identify, the shape of the ears and green skin suggested a goblin, but the nose, jaws, and eyes were more like an orc's. The unfortunate dark elf still had an earring. All-in-all, the room was like that of a big game hunter who moonlighted as a serial killer.

"Disgusting," Nichole said.

"The quarters of the master of this place, perhaps?" Fawley suggested.

"If so, he obviously has a lot more to answer for than trafficking," added Dugan. "In any case, he doesn't seem to be at home. Let's -"

"Wait," said Nichole. "Over there."

Dugan pointed the flashlight where she pointed, to the owlbear head, and they noticed an iron ring of keys in its beak. "Those will probably be useful, right?"

"Nichole be careful," warned Dugan.

"Don't worry, I know," she answered. She slowly reached for the keys, noting, "I doubt this guy would rig some trap in his bedroom."

However, when she took hold of the keys, there was a loud click, followed by a stream of foul, green goop expunged from the head's beak like some sort of vomit. Nichole screamed...

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

_The man's as strong as an ox and almost as smart._

That was the first thought Naicht had. After all, for someone foolish enough to make a frontal charge against so many enemies, Francis wasn't doing half bad. He was still standing, despite the efforts of at least ten of them to force him to the floor while pummeling him with fists and clubs. And when he realized everyone seemed to have forgotten about _him, _he figured Francis might have had another intention.

Whatever the case, he dug into his pocket and withdrew something he had saved for just such a situation, a small, spherical stone, about the size of a tennis ball. Engraved on the surface were three small triangles, connected by groves, making each small triangle the corners of a larger triangle. He traced the lines with his index finger while mumbling a brief incantation in Terran, the language of Earth elementals, invoking the previously prepared magic cast into the three runes, which changed color, red, yellow, and blue. A fourth triangle - upside-down in relation to the large one - with a horizontal slash through the middle - appeared in the center of the larger triangle, and then turned silver. It floated over his hands, and his eyes glowed with power. With a final eldritch command, he held both palms forward, and the sphere was shot like a bullet towards the melee, where it slammed into the forehead of one of the hobgoblins grappling with Francis!

"Wha…" said another of them, but the enchanted sphere wasn't done, ricocheting off the wall, then bashing into another of them, then repeating the trick with a third, then a fourth. The smaller goblins saw what was happening quickly and let go of Francis in order to dive for cover. Of course, Francis saw what was happening too, and gave a savage kick to one of his remaining attackers, right before the stone orb clobbered the last one holding him.

The orb still wasn't done. It careened off the wall behind Naicht. Before speeding towards the mounted hobgoblins and their bodyguards. Unfortunately, one of the latter made a mighty swing of his bludgeon, striking the projectile as it sped towards him, and sending it soaring towards the ceiling where it shattered into dust.

Then he looked at Francis and Naicht with a toothy frown and a low growl.

"Uh," said Francis.

"This way!" yelled Naicht.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Early in Nichole's apprenticeship as a Shadowchaser, she had been encouraged to at least listen in on a lot of strategy planning, and the first case that made her seriously regret agreeing to join them (most Shadowchasers have about five of these instances) was when Kurt brought down a kalke that was running a red-room online.

Now, kalke are assassins. That's what they do. Just like dwarves are metalworkers, elves are artists, and orcs are soldiers, kalke are killers. Sure, it was an unfair stereotype most of the time, but many kalke seem to enjoy this reputation little too much. This particular kalke was a high-priced and successful assassin who, by his own account, grew bored with killing victims the "regular" way, so decided to solve this problem - and make some extra profit - by kidnapping his quarry and dealing with them via an internet "red-room", a combination of video livestream and snuff film.

As Karl had told her, it's unbelievable how many people are degenerate and _sick _enough to watch such things, much less _pay _to do so. The site held _polls _to determine which method he'd kill each victim; the one Nichole witnessed was green slime.

A type of slime mold fungus from beyond Shadow, green slime was a corrosive, acidic goo that could dissolve metal very quickly, and dissolve flesh almost-as-quickly. The poor victim in this case took about three minutes to die, clearly in agony as she was literally _melted _by the stuff_. _

The kalke was eventually apprehended - and much like other killers stupid enough to record their crimes, easily convicted - but Nichole had nightmares for months over that one viewing, and ever since, was nervous whenever she saw anything "grunge" related.

So, one could have hardly blamed her for overreacting and screaming at the top of her lungs when the mounted head seemed to puke green goo all over her. A minute or so of shock and fear turned to relief when she realized she seemed unhurt, but then disgust when she realized how much this stuff stunk, and finally, rage when she realized that she had spent $30 for this shirt which was now ruined.

"Yuck," she finally said.

"Looks like whoever rigged that trap did so with the intent of identifying the thief," said Dugan.

Nichole stood up, embarrassed and upset, yet still holding the ring of keys and sincerely hoping they _would _prove useful.

"Well, at least we got those keys," said Fawley. "They must open something."

Nichole stuffed them in her pocket as they exited the room. "Well, if they don't, I'm going to find whoever rigged that trap and shove them up his -"

"What's all the noise here?"

The interruption came from the second secret door, the one they had planned to check next, but it was already open. Three angry hobgoblins had come to investigate the scream, and seemed looking for a fight, wearing leather jackets and holding baseball bats.

But Dugan was _not _in the mood. He pointed his weapon at them and cocked the lever. "Drop the weapons," he ordered.

"Uh," said one of them.

"I mean it. Just give me an excuse."

Showing far more intelligence than most of the thugs the Shadowchasers had dealt with today, the three hobgoblins dropped the clubs and lifted their arms.

_Well, _thought Nichole, _it's a start._

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

"Okay, okay," said Vance, "this is just one early suggested design."

The poster was a _campaign _poster, picturing Vance in front of the Illinois State Seal, with a big grin and giving a "thumbs up" with both hands.

"You gotta be kidding, _you're running for governor?"_

"Well, not _yet" _replied Vance, "I mean, the gubernatorial primaries aren't until July, but -"

"You're _running for governor?"_ said Nichole, trying and failing to stifle a laugh. "As in, you're going to run against Duncan? Seriously? Right, right, sure, let me guess, you're also dating Maddie Webber?"

Vance chuckled a little, as did some of the Serpents, but Nichole's lack of optimism was not without merit. Governor Nathaniel Duncan ("Nate" to his friends) had been Governor of Illinois for the past five election cycles and showed no signs of slowing down. Nichole herself was looking forward to casting a ballot for him when she registered to vote for the first time next year, after turning 18. The only time he had faced serious competition in the election was his first run as an incumbent, and few pundits believed this would change soon.

"I am dead-serious, Ms. Belvins, here's my campaign platform. Summarized, of course."

Nichole slowly took the pamphlet he handed her, one which had a smaller version of the picture on the poster. She skimmed over the bold print inside, and it seemed typical.

"Health care reform, police reform, more tax money allocated to infrastructure and education, civil rights protections… Seems like generic stuff, Vance, the same promises every politician makes and most of them break."

"Sadly true, Ms. Belvins, but issues alone can't win an election. You see, given my analysis, the biggest edge Duncan has in winning elections is two key demographics, the lower class and Shadowkind, two groups I have, to date, failed to gain much admiration from."

"Yeah, I think Big Bill Thompson had the same problem."

"Oh yes, I know, he told me himself."

The comment made Nichole feel like she had been slugged in the stomach. As overbearing as Vance was, there had still been a part of her that made her assume she was talking to a normal human, rather than a Shadow of incredible power who could easily be old enough to remember Prohibition, and the most corrupt mayor Chicago ever had.

"You see, Nichole, St. Cuthbert's House is a beacon of hope in the squalor of this city, a place the downtrodden and Shadowkind alike trust."

"And you want me to turn it into your propaganda engine," muttered Nichole. "Swell. Why ME Vance?"

"Because you have potential, Nichole," replied Vance. "That is something I see well in those who have it, and you have more than most."

"Uh-huh, did you see that in Marc?"

The overwhelming feeling of terror she felt at that moment made her realize she may have hit a nerve. Vance was behind her, but without even seeing him, the way he was looking at her made her too terrified to even turn and face him.

_Please, don't, I beg you… _she really had no idea if she had said that out loud or not, and even less of an idea if it mattered, but then, the terror started to ebb ever so slightly.

"Yes, I felt it in your brother," said Vance, his tone at the point between slightly angry and _very_ annoyed, "but he went too far, meddled in areas he shouldn't have. But I'm not completely without mercy, Nichole". She gasped as he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around. Still, she couldn't look him in the face. "I have influence Nichole, as I know Delia told you. Judges, prosecutors… parole boards. I could have Marc out in a week. In fact, if I were indeed governor of this state, I might be able to get the President himself to consider a pardon.

"Consider this, Nichole, there are two ways this can end here tonight, and I doubt Marc would react well if you made the wrong choice."

Nichole started to cry. She had known from the start that Vance's offer was _not _intended as a request, and that saying "no" would be the last thing she ever did. She hated this man and didn't trust him, but did she have any other choice? She would hate herself forever, but she would say yes. Anything to get Marc back…

_But, _a split second before she could, Vance interrupted.

"Nichole, maybe it would be easier for you if I cut all the bullshit and stopped keeping secrets."

He stepped back, and took off his jacket, tossing it aside. To Nichole's horror, he started unbuttoning his shirt. This was the end; she was going to be raped and murdered right here. At least she assumed that.

The assumption ended quickly when she saw his bare chest….

_Marc… What the devil did you get yourself into?_

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

"Where are they?"

Despite having surrendered (and now being handcuffed and sitting on the floor, obviously in a losing position), the three hobgoblins were very uncooperative. Dugan was starting to think they had assumed they'd bring them to the surface right away, but that was _not _an option now.

"_Brakatok, mon'keigh!" _shouted the biggest hobgoblin.

Dugan's response was to point his rifle at the thug, then cock the lever, and reply with _'Dumtharak baramathar."_

The hobgoblin started to sweat, losing his confident attitude. Fawley couldn't help but smirk, quickly noting what Dugan had done. The thug had cursed at him in the Goblin tongue (or rather, the language goblins shared with the closely related hobgoblins and bugbears) and Dugan used an even _worse _goblin obscenity to show him he could understand it.

"Look, don't hurt us, okay?" said the second one. "Seriously, we're just hired help here."

"We've been hearing a _lot _of that lately," answered Dugan, "and I've heard it a lot before, most often from 'hired help' who are involved in pretty serious crimes."

"Seriously!" added the second hobgoblin. "Ghulertas just hired us as gofers. You know, he tells us to gofer coffee, gofer sandwiches…"

"Gofer Rohypnol," said Nichole. She had been looking through the satchel one of them had and had found several bottles of pills had the notoriously powerful sedative's name on the label.

"Come on, it's for insomnia!" protested the first one. "Not like we'd use it to sedate a bunch of prisoners, or -"

"SHADDUP, Gary!" shouted the second one.

"Oh, look, it seems he had you gofer Viagra too," she continued. She threw two more pill bottles towards them, the bottles of the well-known impotence cure clattering at their feet. "Oh gee, guess he told you to gofer _this _too, right?"

The object she took from the bag this time was a short, wooden baton with prongs on one end. She held it by the other end, and there was a crackling of electricity and sparks from the prongs. It was a picana, a tool that worked like a cattle prod, but used on humans, usually as a means of torture.

"Who's this Ghulertas fellow, by the way?" asked Dugan.

"Well, whoever he is," said Nichole, a rather dour tone, "he doesn't exactly eat healthy."

She was now looking through the duffle, and it seemed to be full of bags and canisters of potato chips. Not your typical barbecue flavor or sour cream and onion either, the brands and flavors were among the most unappetizing she had ever seen.

"Fritos Chili Cheese Corn Chips? Ruffles Bacon & Cheddar Loaded Potato Skins? Herr's Ketchup Flavored Potato Chips?" She looked at one where the label was Japanese. "Ugh, no idea what this is."

"Salmon-Sushi Flavor," said Fawley. "Had it once, convinced me not to have it twice."

"Your boss actually eats this crap?" asked Dugan.

"Oh, those are Larfroz's chips," said the first hobgoblin, "and actually, it's rare to see him when he's _not _eating them."

"You should see the stuff he drinks!" added the second one.

They started talking quickly, obviously more eager to spill information on this Larfroz than they were about Ghulertas. He was the guy in charge of the operation's "merchandise" and funds. He called himself a "broker", although the hobgoblins knew "fence" was likely the more accurate term.

They also knew he was obsessed with junk food, and had contacts in multiple countries, who used the portals in the Malachite Fortress to transport entire bins of the stuff. "He even ordered pizza through one of them last time!" exclaimed Gary.

Exactly how he could eat so much without getting sick, they never knew, but Larfroz wasn't the type who liked to share. But since both Larfroz and Ghulertas were busy with their auction tonight, the three of them had decided to pilfer some of it and sneak away for an impromptu snack break.

"Auction?" said Dugan. "I figured as much, where are they?"

Dugan got no answer. He pointed the gun at them, but Fawley lifted his hand. "Mr. Dugan? A word?"

"What now?" Dugan asked.

The wizard didn't answer but picked up one of the smaller bags of chips. "These three clearly have no intention of telling us anything useful, but we now have another option." He closed his eyes and concentrated, mumbling a brief incantation.

'Oh, I get it," said Nichole in an excited whisper. "Find the Path, right?"

Dugan had caught on too. Finding this "broker" was key to finding Ghulertas, and if he had tossed an empty chip bag into a trash can - and had yet to empty it - the spell could find it.

Fawley opened his eyes. "We're close!" he exclaimed.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

"**This way!"**

Francis was only too happy to comply dashing after the genasi in the opposite direction, towards a large, open, metal, mechanical door. Naicht got there first, grasped hold of a lever on the wall inside and threw it down; Francis ducked underneath as the door started to roll down. As the door slammed closed, Naicht's eyes glowed again, and he gave the lever a fierce yank, ripping it free of the wall.

As his eyes turned back to normal, he held his diaphragm and took low, long gasps of breath, exhausted from the effort.

"Easy, big guy," said Francis. "We should be safe for now."

Then there was a loud, slamming noise, a huge dent made in the door from something striking it from the other side and angry cursing in goblin-language.

"Or… maybe not."

They looked around the room, only to find that there was no other exit. The medium-sized room had two desks and a few large objects covered with sheets, but no other doors.

"Well, crap," said Francis.

"Search the desks," said Naicht. "See if there's anything we can use. I'll hold them off if they start coming through."

_Okay, just don't panic, _thought Francis to himself. He nodded to the genasi, then went to do so. _Just keep cool like you're supposed to. _

The first thing he noticed about this odd desk was that it was larger than most. (_Big enough for a bugbear to use, _was his first thought) and seemed to be made of brick. Still, he didn't exactly need to move it. He opened one of the drawers, and found quite a few papers and manilla envelopes, but he hardly had the time to read them. "Say, Naicht," he said, "that was a pretty decent spell back there, what was it?"

"Oh, uh, thank you," replied Naicht, "that was something of my own design. I researched it for the senior thesis." There was another loud slam, and a larger dent was made in the door. "Does seem to have a few bugs that need to be worked out."

Francis continued rummaging through the desk, which was obviously owned by a slob. Another drawer he opened contained notebooks, a logbook, and lots more loose papers. "So, uh, what do you call it?" he asked. He threw more of the papers aside, finding another of those old paperbacks, this one titled _Caverns of the Snow Witch. _That one he'd read; he found it ironic - and maybe even a little jarring - that someone involved in this trafficking operation shared his taste in old books.

"Oh, uh, I haven't gotten to that either," replied Naicht. "Uh… maybe… _punishing projectile of stone?" _

"Eh, we can work on it." Francis kept searching through the desk, but only found some office supplies and a lot of junk. A troll doll, an old cigar lighter torch (he rolled his eyes; the show-off who ran the old chop shop he used to work for had one of those), boxes of paper clips and rubber bands, a large bottle of rubber cement - nothing useful.

Then, for some reason, the pounding against the door stopped.

"Think they gave up?" asked Francis.

Then a pair of _huge _mandibles - obviously belonging to a spider at least twice the size of any they had seen up to now - pierced through the door.

"No… they're trying something new."

"Francis, listen," said Naicht, his tone clearing showing fear he had been trying to suppress. He doffed his jacket, then ripped his shirt off, throwing it aside, revealing a torso covered with runic tattoos, like the one that had been printed on the stone.

"This next spell I'm going to try takes a total of three minutes to cast." He closed his eyes tight and started to concentrate, the tattoos starting to glow faintly. His voice became lower as he answered. "I need you to distract them, I need you to distract them, and _then _get under that desk. I've only used _earthquake _twice before, but -"

"WAIT, one minute," replied Francis. He had only a second-hand account of _that _spell, but he also knew it had _incredible _destructive power even when used _above _ground. _Below _ground however...

"Yeah, this is going to cause a cave-in, but there's a _chance _I might be able to dig us out later."

"_Might?" _

"Unless you want to fight that thing."

Francis had to admit, they were running out of options, and those giant mandibles were tearing through the steel door, slowly but surely, and the angry hobgoblin curses behind it were getting louder.

_Okay, okay, a distraction, hmm, _he thought. He picked up the lighter torch, then looked at the pile of papers he had thrown on the floor. _Could light a fire with this, but not a very big one..._

Then he remembered something about rubber cement - it was flammable. And it could make a small fire spread very fast.

He picked up the bottle and opened it; the lid was slightly stuck, but he was able to wrench it off after a good, swift twist. It was only half-full, but the glue that was left was still liquid. A plan was forming. He turned to the large piece of furniture with the sheet on it and pulled it off. _Just need to use this stuff to set the papers and the sheet on fire, and I can - _

He stopped with his mouth agape when he saw what the sheet had been covering.

"Naicht, STOP!"

The genasi turned slightly, but when _he _saw what it was, he did indeed stop.

"Maybe we do have another option," said Francis, a wide grin on his face.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

_**Okay, think we're gonna end there. In case everyone didn't realize it by now, I just LOVE cliffhangers. **_

_**Next chapter, Nichole's trip down memory lane will conclude for the time being, and we'll find out just who this Larfroz fellow is.**_

_**Until then, it's time to take yet another look at the mysterious Madca's Troupe! (Man, you should have seen what a pain it was to spellcheck this one...)**_

**Shadowchaser Files:**

**Mr. ?**

_Again, I must repeat, this analysis by Mr. Chaun should be viewed with a small amount - but not large amount - of skepticism. Especially for a Shadow THIS unusual. _

As I've hinted before, Madca's Troupe and whoever they are affiliated with has some performers and acts - such as Sillesa's - that are of the "harmful to minors" type, and entrance requires a valid ID with proof of age. And even among guests who _are _adults, there's always the type rowdy enough (or intoxicated enough) to try disregarding the "no touching" rules. If those asps and cobras aren't enough to keep a lecherous guest at bay, the Troupe's bouncer/chaperone/bodyguard certainly will. His name is Mr. ?

_(For those talking about him not using writing, most call him "Mr. Question Mark" or "Mr. What". And no jokes about __"1337 Sp34k", okay? He and the rest of the Troupe heard them all a thousand times apiece.)_

At first Mr. ? doesn't seem all _too _odd. He's a tall fellow wearing the elegant and refined (maybe little outdated) clothes of a gentleman. His "hair" is a powdered wig (like the type barristers and judges used to wear). And he also wears a porcelain mask, of the type you'd see in masque performances. He's got quite a few theatrical masks, in fact (including Comedy, Tragedy, Guy Fawkes, Phantom of the Opera, and so on), and seems to change them on a whim. What's important is the times he takes off the mask, revealing an expression that's kind of blank.

Truthfully, it's _completely _blank. Where his eyes, nose, mouth and ears should be, there is nothing. When he takes the wig off, his head is like a pink, waxy egg. Somehow, he's still able to see and hear perfectly well. He can talk too, but he's not much of a conversationalist.

In fact, despite being called "Mr. ?" he could just as easily be called "Miss ?". If he were to take that suit off, you'd see nothing indicating either gender, his body is like a man-shaped candle, with no features at all.

Now, how can a man live this way? Simple, Mr. ? isn't a man, and never was one, although even by Shadow standards, he's bizarre.

**The Chant of Mr. ?: **Actually, there's truly little to say about Mr. ?'s past. According to Tonogul, he just sort of appeared one day when the Troupe was performing at one of the beaches outside of Baltimore. A crisis erupted when a scrag came ashore and assaulted the guests.

Now, scags are Shadowkind related to trolls, but slightly smarter and a _LOT _stronger. The Shadowchasers have long known about the packs of them in Chesapeake Bay, but they usually behave themselves; this was a rare exception.

Whatever the case, Mr. ? showed up then for the first time, effortlessly restraining and subduing the scrag. Ruined his suit, sadly, but it quickly gave him a reputation of someone you do _not _want to mess with. Presumably, he works for the Troupe's mysterious owner, but how he came to do so, it's hard to say.

One thing everyone learned quickly is not to try to be too friendly with him, because as dangerous as it is to get on his bad side, getting on his _good _side is worse. If he grows too fond of a human who tries to befriend him, he might want to bethat person. And he can do just that.

Nobody knows _how, _but Mr. ? can copy the physical form and steal the memories of someone simply by touching that person. The victim is initially left comatose, and has amnesia upon waking up, but what happens to Mr. ? might be even more debilitating, as this strange power causes him to _believe _himself to be the person he copied. Naturally, this has led to quite a few amusing - and embarrassing - situations. Say you were to wake up from a long, deep slumber, and find an unconscious duplicate of yourself on the ground in front of you. That's sort of what Mr. ? experiences each time he does this.

Fortunately, this is temporary, and anywhere from a few hours to a few days later, the victim slowly starts to regain the lost memories as Mr. ? loses them at the same pace, and Mr. ? eventually returns to his normal state.

Still, whoever or whatever Mr. ? is, I'm positive the Troupe is glad he's on their side…

**The Dark of Mr. ?: **Actually, Chester, it's clear what Mr. ? is, although there is indeed plenty about him that doesn't make sense. He's a wax golem, one with a very grim personality disorder.

Now, among golems, the rare variety made of wax stands out. Most golems are known for being extraordinarily strong, exceptionally durable, and very dumb. As Chester alluded to, wax golems are indeed physically strong and durable, but among golems in general, they rate exceptionally low there. They rate high among them on intelligence (most golems can best be described as "mindless") and unlike most, have useful magical abilities, like the ability to steal the memories and appearances of a victim. Most wax golems are used for purposes where disguise is useful, such as spying, sabotage, and assassination.

However, wax golems dosteal a victim's identity, and can potentially assume it indefinitely. They also never mistake their own memories or identity with that of the victim. In many ways, Mr. ? is, for all his talents, a defective golem.

In his true form, Mr. ? is as smart as the typical wax golem, but unlike most, he's not comfortable with his true form. His personality, if you can call it that, is blank and emotionless, except a perverse sense of emptiness and a desire to be something more. And this is what drives him to "borrow" the memories and forms of others. It's not via malevolence, he simply does it instinctively.

As traumatic as this can be for the victim, it's even worse for Mr. ?, especially when the effect starts to wear off. For a while, he is, for all intents and purposes, another person, a person with memories of friends, family, and everything else that person had. He doesn't even know what a wax golem is unless the victim had such knowledge. What would your reaction be to find yourself slowly turning into wax as memories start to fade?

Worst part of all, he does seem to realize wholly what he is about an hour or so before completely returning to his true form. Quite possibly, in those last few hours, when he knows he's losing what he pines for, he feels rather sad…

**Story Ideas: **Much like the blank slate he resembles, Mr. ? has near-limitless potential. Consider stories where the antagonist is the typical villainous doppelganger who assumes the protagonists form in order to cause trouble. Then imagine a creature who does so _by accident. _Mr. ?'s disguise is near-perfect, and one that even fools _himself _into thinking he's someone else. This sort of plot element could be done for comedy, horror, or both.

There's also the mystery of just where he came from and how he got such a quirk. Although, as his name implies, some things are better if just kept a secret.


	12. See No Evil

_Friends, Romans, Fanfic fans, lend me your ears!_

I'll give them back later, I promise. Lol.

Hey everyone, apologies for the delay getting this out. It's been hectic here. We've had state-wide power losses that resulted in having to call the State Assemblywoman before the electric company got off their ass and decided to fix them (I am _definitely _voting for her again in November) and as an indirect result, my dad had to be taken to the hospital after _losing 14 pounds in a week _due to being unable to use his c-pap while he slept, and NOW we have to look into getting a generator. Ironically, it seems the Covid-9 virus is the one problem we _haven't _had around here.

Don't worry, everyone is fine, and I've had a LOT of time to write since. Before I start, I must credit MetalOverlord 2.0 for the creation of the unique Shadowkind who appears in this chapter, which first appeared in _Shadowchasers: City of Angels. _I would also like to give credit to 7th Librarian for his help in the Files section of this chapter.

So, to everyone here, thank you for your continued support, and stay safe.

**0-0-0-0-0**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Part Twelve**

**See No Evil**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**0-0-0-0-0**

"We're close!" said Fawley.

The two Shadowchasers were following their ally down a long corridor, lit by those same cages of fire beetles that seemed the default light source for this whole complex. Dugan's watch read fifteen minutes to seven. They were cutting it close, but if all went well, they'd make it in time. The only problem was just how tough this "half a dwarf" was. He was holding out hope that it was half as tough as the typical dwarf but knew this was likely wishful thinking.

The walls of the corridor had alcoves every ten feet or so on each side, and each had another of the thin versions of those four-armed gargoyles. Some were broken, missing one or more limbs or the head, but even the ones that had intact heads were missing the crystal horns. Dugan kept his gun ready to fire if any proved dangerous, but for now, they were inanimate.

"Hold it," said Fawley. He held his hand out and looked at the wall to the left of them. Then he slowly started walking forward again, still looking at the wall. "Behind that wall, I would bet my life on it."

The corgi Nichole was holding seemed to sense what Fawley sensed, as it barked loudly at the spot. "Shush, shush," said Nichole. She stroked its head, not wanting to alert whatever enemy was so close.

"Clearly no door," said Dugan, "the way in is somewhere else and we'll have to hope we find it."

As they started walking forward again, slower now, Fawley sighed. "Mr. Naicht is the Earth Elementalist expert, he knows at least _three _spells that could _make _a door."

"Uhm, speaking of doors," said Nichole.

The corgi started to bark _very _loudly now, as the corridor had terminated in what seemed to be the most unfriendly-looking door she had ever seen.

It was kind of like a mural or a mosaic, or a combination of both. The stone door had a frightening statue of a robed, hooded skeleton, the hood obscuring the upper-left part of its face, its jaw greeting them with a toothy smile, as it smugly crossed its arms in a way to rest each body hand on the opposite wrist. The rest of the door had skulls covering the surface, as if they had been stuck into a rectangular-shaped block of putty that later hardened, forming a horrific, door-shaped collage. It wasn't exactly the door one would put a welcome mat in front of.

Fawley, however, seemed unimpressed. "Skulls, everyone always thinks skulls are supposed to be scary. I mean, everybody has one."

"Yeah, this was likely put here by the new owners," said Dugan. "To scare us into thinking there's something dangerous behind it. And it doesn't exactly fit the theme."

That was true. This design was nothing like the weird, four armed statues they had encountered, and was _not _made of malachite. Dugan looked at the cloaked skeleton closely, then poked his finger into the right eye socket. He stood back, and the door rolled upward with a slow rumble, revealing a large, dark chamber beyond.

He looked ahead, shining his flashlight as he did so… And nearly fell over forward, hearing the corgi yelp as it leapt from Nichole's hand, Nichole herself grabbing him to keep him from plummeting into the chasm in front of them.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The past.**

"Gee, and I thought Marc had it bad."

She was loath to admit it now, but Nichole had once admired the Blue Serpents. When she was eleven and nearly a rebellious teen, she thought they were "cool". But she never liked those snake tattoos like the one Marc got when he joined. It was ugly, unsightly, and didn't exactly convince you that he could be trusted.

But it seemed now, there were worse ways your skin could be marred.

Looking at Madison Vance's bare, muscular chest, his near-perfect abs and pectorals went almost unnoticed due to the _huge _tattoo there. It was a hideous serpent with five heads, a large red one in the center, blue and white ones to the left of it, and green and black ones on the right. Underneath the five heads was a globe depicting the Earth, resting on the snake's coils. The four smaller heads were looking forward, a threatening glare towards anyone looking at them, while the central red one was more interested in the Earth below it, salivating as it savored devouring it whole.

Still, despite the nightmarish image, Nichole noted that this tattoo was _very _finely done, almost as if it had been painted with oils using Vance's very flesh as a canvas. _But why…_ she thought.

"It isn't pretty, is it?" Vance started to button up his shirt again as he spoke. "You know, Ms. Belvins, I work with a lot of bigwigs in both the business world and the underworld - which are often not mutually exclusive these days - and they've often asked why someone like me is still a bachelor. You should see the drivel they write about me in the online tabloids. Some people have _disgusting_ minds." Sven handed him back his jacket as he continued. "They don't know that most women I try to get close to panic and run away _screaming _every time they see this. One of them even hanged herself. It's not something I like to advertise."

"I should say so," said Nichole.

"I've tried to get rid of it. I've tried sandpaper, acid, fire… a knife…"

"Wait, wait, time out," she said, waving her arms. "You have more money that the mint, couldn't you -"

"- go to a plastic surgeon? If only it were that simple. It's not a tattoo, Ms. Belvins, it's a Divine Brand. It marks a half-dragon like me as a Dragonspawn of Tiamat, the Queen of Dragons."

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The present:**

Dugan was sitting down in the doorway, trying hard to get over the shock of nearly plummeting to his death. "Okay, okay, maybe there was _something _dangerous."

Behind the door was a very narrow ledge that separated them from a wide, yawning chasm. They were still in the Malachite Fortress, and this chasm didn't seem nearly as deep as the previous, but they still weren't anxious to see what was below. On the other side, opposite them, were _three _stone drawbridges in the upright position ("Why couldn't it have been on _this _side," moaned Nichole) and behind the central drawbridge was a _very _large version of the thin version of the four-armed statues. Again, this one was broken, missing the lower left arm and head. A doorway leading to the deepest parts of the Malachite Fortress was beneath its legs.

"Someone must have wanted those crystals pretty badly," said Dugan.

"Look," said Fawley. He muttered a few magic words, the flame in his hand growing and increasing illumination. The ledge widened to a safer thickness to the left of them, making an almost-safe walkway along the ridge. He looked to the right - no ledge at all.

He gestured for them to follow, and they carefully did so, scooting along the narrow ledge. About twenty feet or so from the door they had come they found it, a large, discolored part of the wall.

"This is it," said Fawley. He started running his hands along the spot, looking for a switch to open it. "There's a door here that leads to the spot behind that wall the spell was leading to before."

The dog barked once, then growled, bending its head towards part of the wall.

"Huh?" said Nichole. Then she saw it, a small, wooden plank with a keyhole in the center. "Good boy!" she said softly.

She put the beast down and then dug into her pocket, withdrawing the keys she had gotten from the trophy with the slime trap. "Here goes… everything."

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The past:**

Vance explained, more thoroughly than Nichole would have liked, all but confirming something she had suspected - that he was the type who loved nothing better than to talk about himself.

When he was born, the unsightly "tattoo" was just an unremarkable birthmark, but when he hit puberty, it started to grow like a tumor. By the time he was twenty, it had grown into what it was now. His father - the dragon side of his family - was as concerned about it as anyone else, and, having amassed his own fortune over centuries, spent a great deal of funds on doctors and surgeons, cosmetic and otherwise, trying to remove the horrid thing. Some of them were able to remove it for a short time, but it always came back. Magical remedies fared no better.

Finally, Vance's own research discovered what it was, and what _he _was, a sign that he had been imbued with Tiamat's dark magic while still in his mother's womb and given the designation of a Bluespawn Godslayer. The most fanatic of Tiamat's followers suggest that Dragonspawn are conceived by the goddess herself, carried by a mortal parent who acts as a surrogate. He personally thought _that _part was nonsense, but it didn't change what he was, or what his purpose was. Fated to lead - or at least, be _one _of the leaders - in the Devil Queen's divine war against Bahamut.

Nichole was skeptical upon hearing all this. "So then, you're the Antichrist, the one fated to bring about the apocalypse?"

"Maybe I am, or maybe it's some other divine servant of some other almighty idiot who thinks _genocide _is a good idea. All I know is, Tiamat 'appointed' me as such. Before I was even born."

His voice had become bitter and sullen, and Nichole could tell he was angry, but the anger wasn't directed at her.

"When I found this out, it was 1942, and I was only 27 years old, still practically a baby from a dragon's point of view. Yet, I already had controlling shares of _three _companies that I had easily maintained through the Great Depression, holding stock in them which ten years later would grow to be worth _thousands _of times their original value. I was richer than my father, and there was _nothing _I couldn't afford to buy that was worth buying.

"The irony struck me hard. I was, myself, the property of someone else. It was a cruel joke."

"But now you're just fine with it?" asked Nichole.

Vance gave a short laugh. "What was I supposed to do, Ms. Belvins, go to her Palace of Gold and Skulls in the First Layer of Hell and tell her I was quitting? She's a dragon, remember? When she wants something you have, you _give _it to her, or she _takes _it. Even my father was terrified when he found out what the Brand was. Can you believe it? He's an _actual _dragon, and he nearly panicked! First time in my life I had ever seen him afraid of _anything. _But this did teach me one thing Ms. Belvins, and that is how the universe works. It's all about who owns what, and who owns _you._

"The more you own, the more power and influence you have. And when you own someone who _himself _has power and influence, yours becomes even stronger. Some say this is a shallow and selfish philosophy, but it's true! Even Tiamat herself is a pawn of greater powers of the Lower Planes! It's all about a solid, unbreakable chain of command!" He clenched his fist as he said so, and for a moment, his eyes turned glowing, sapphire blue.

All this time, Nichole was watching, with a combination of amazement, repulsion, and shock. "So, in other words," she finally said, "wealth equals power, and the secret to survival in this rotten world is to get the richest and strongest 'Sugar Daddy' you can find and hope you never get on the bad side of someone with a richer and stronger one? Sounds like the old 'my dad can beat up your dad' routine."

"Times about a billion," said Dalia.

"You think it would be any different for you under St. Cuthbert?" asked Vance.

He had pulled that same sly disappearing trick again, somehow moving to the side of her without her noticing. Now, however, the fear was gone. She started to think it had been some sort of dark spell from the beginning. All she felt now was rage.

"Tiamat and Cuthbert aren't all too different, you know." Again, he was speaking in his soft, persuasive voice, but the mesmerizing effect it had on her was no longer there. "Consider him the FBI of the celestial hierarchy, and her the IRS. Just two cogs in a _huge, _orderly machine." His hand started to caress her shoulder. "She just wants the same thing he does, an orderly, proper…"

"Get… your… goddamn… hand… OFF OF ME!"

The fear was now completely gone, and Nichole tore free of the two thugs holding her, aiming a punch at Vance's chin that made the Serpents gasp.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The present:**

Nichole turned the key, and with a soft click, the door rumbled upward, much like the previous door had.

It again opened into a long corridor, but they saw a difference quickly. A light from an opening up ahead was obviously a modern electric light, unlike the old-fashioned gas lamps and fire beetle cages the two Shadowchasers had seen since arriving in Cauldron. Dugan and Fawley turned off their own lamps as they slowly approached the light.

What they saw when they peeked in filled them with absolute _rage. _This looked like it had once been a temple or mausoleum, but someone had turned it into a cellblock. There were six cells here, and all were occupied, by a collection of decrepit and disheveled humans, elves, gnomes and halflings, most of them female. From what they saw - and for that matter, smelled - they were malnourished and in bad shape. It was almost difficult to see the positive here - that the presence of these prisoners meant they were _not _too late.

Of course, the true disgust came when they saw who the jailer was, whom they quickly figured out was Larfroz, and likely the "swine" the dark stalker had mentioned. An exceptionally large desk made of wood, stone and cement blocks had been set up next to what might have once been an altar. A matching chair made of the same materials was provided. Still, it was hard to see how it could support the massive Shadowkind sitting in it.

Mundane humans might have viewed him as an obese and very ugly human, but to the aware humans and half-elf here, his face was a grotesque meld of human and a tusked pig or boar, with slick, black hair, watery eyes, and rotten teeth. They estimated that he would be seven feet tall when he stood up but was almost that much in width.

Despite this, the creature seemed impeccably well-dressed, in a white business suit and tie, obviously custom-tailored. He seemed to have quite a lot of "bling" too, with rings on every finger, and a gold medallion. "Like someone threw up in a jewelry store," Nichole would say later.

The desk included the most modern equipment they had seen since coming to Cauldron, with a laptop computer and mobile phone (which he was talking into at the moment) but it was a _mess _with candy wrappers, empty chip bags, and beer cans all over it, some of which he was snacking on while talking on the mobile. He was a _very _loud chewer, and while there was a wastebasket next to the desk, it was obvious most of the trash he discarded failed to hit it. There were still many of the fire beetle cages, including a whole chandelier of them on the ceiling, but far brighter light was provided by electric lights. There was also a rotary fan, a microwave oven, and what seemed to be security cameras mounted upon the walls, the power provided by some unseen generator.

This was not an ordinary Shadowkind, it was a Porcurian. A type of demon obsessed with obtaining wealth at all costs with no manners or any morals at all, Porcurians were living embodiments of Greed. Whether it was the black market, insider trading, pyramid or Ponzi schemes, or war profiteering, many of the most profitable criminal enterprises in the world could be traced back to a Porcurian in some way.

And the two Shadowchasers wouldn't let the slovenly appearance fool them; this Shadow was _extremely dangerous_. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice them yet.

"Jeff, Jeff, listen, I heard ya the first time, okay?" The Porcurian's voice was low, gravely, and gruff, with an accent that was American, likely Texan. "I told you, when you 'reserve' a lot here, it still means you gotta come pick it up, you know what I'm saying? The chief has customers here and he ain't gonna postpone the biddings if you can't make it." He stopped to listen. "Layover? I thought guys like you could fly." Listened again, then stifled a laugh. "Sorry, Jeff, but we also have a strict cash-and-carry policy. We can't exactly -" He stopped and listened again. "For _how _much?" Again, he stopped, then turned to the cell behind him. One of the occupants shivered and cowered. He tossed another wrapper towards the trash can (missing, of course) and continued talking into the phone. Fawley's eyes burned as he clenched his fist - she was one of his missing students.

"Yeah, I _might _be willing to hold onto that lot for that much. Huh? Oh, don't worry Jeff, we're _very _confidential here."

"But _we're_ a bunch of tattletales."

"Huh?" said Larfroz but was quickly broadsided from a blast from Dugan's blunderbuss _and_ Fawley's dual lightning bolts. Both simply couldn't be quiet any longer. The Porcurian tumbled out of his chair, landing face first on the floor next to the desk.

"Uh, Jeff, I'll call you back." Even as Dugan prepared a second shot, the huge Shadow managed to roll behind the desk as he stuffed the mobile in the pocket of his now burnt and ripped jacket, the desk unfortunately granting him nearly total cover from the weapon.

"Come out with your hands up, Orson!" demanded Dugan.

"Let me guess," grunted Larfroz, "it was Morag, right? Never liked that creep. I always warned the boss he would turn on us."

"I said, come out with your hands up!" demanded Dugan.

"Still," continued the Porcurian, "I am kinda glad you're here…"

Dugan clicked the shaft of his weapon and was about to advance on the cowering demon, but then, Fawley lifted his hand and said "Wait…"

The corgi barked again, then whimpered a little. It seemed he had gotten wind of the same bad aura in the room that Fawley had, something he didn't like. "Go, go, find somewhere safe," she told it. She put it down, and it scurried away towards a corner of the room. Nichole's hand went to her weapon, starting to sense - as the familiar did, that there was some unseen danger in this room.

Larfroz continued, his voice still sounding eerily formal. "See, I was going to give the folks coming tonight the tape of the dry run, but it will be _much _better if I can include the field test too."

"What in the world are you talking a-" started Nichole.

Then they saw them, everyone did. In hindsight, the two Shadowchasers figured they _might _have seen them if they had studied the room a little further, but then, hindsight _is _20/20. The spaces in-between each cell was a crude stone fresco, maybe _vaguely _carved into the shape of a bulky humanoid. Now, however, as the captives screamed and cowered, the frescos not only became unmistakably humanoid, but fleshy and mobile. They now looked like muscular creatures with ugly, pig-like heads and tusks. Each had a gemstone in its forehead that seemed to sparkle with a magical aura, and they guessed quickly these gems had been cut from the odd "horns" that had been taken from the destroyed statues that were all the Malachite Fortress. Nasty weapons formed in their hands, one hefting a stone axe, the second a knobbed mace, the third dual, crescent-shaped sickles, and the last a mourning star.

Showing remarkable speed for golems (assuming that's what they were) the four pig men moved to form a barrier in front of the Porcurian. "That's it, boys," said the demon, "don't kill them right away, let them take in the brilliance of it a little first."

"Brilliance?" said Nichole. "Big deal, you brought a gang Gamorean Guards."

"Nice reference, but you see, that's the beauty of it. These constructs can be carved into _any _shape desired by whoever creates them. Or as the case may be, commissions them. These highly efficient stone soldiers are but the first of the secrets we've discovered in this complex. _And_ there's far more on the island of Cauldron as a whole! So, you three can make yourself useful by helping with the first field test." The creatures lifted their weapons and growled, the gemstones on their foreheads glowing brighter. "Do try to make this interesting, I mean, not like we can do this a second time…"

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The Past**

Nichole's punch had not even made Vance flinch, but she had broken several bones in her fingers doing so. Still, even if this fiend killed her, she would do it on _her _terms.

"You know, Vance, since I started to see the Shadows for what they are, I've tried as best I could to see them as something other than monsters. They say beauty is only skin deep, after all, and the same can be said of ugliness. For a minute I was seeing you that way. I figured, maybe, just _maybe _that as bad as you were, you _might _be a necessary evil. And maybe you _think _it's true. But you're a monster to the core.

"True, Tiamat and St. Cuthbert are two sides of the same coin, but that doesn't make them similar at all. Sure, conformity and control will keep the world 'orderly' so long as you do away with justice, honor, and virtue. But hey, those sorts of things are just frivolous luxuries that only the folks in charge deserve, right?"

She stared him in the eye for about ten seconds before adding, "By the way, the answer is no."

"Nichole, seriously," said Sven, "you've got to have _some _of your brother's smarts."

"Shut up, Sven," replied Nichole.

"Look you little -" started the thug again.

"**SHUT UP, SVEN!" **the order now coming from Vance.

Then he turned to Nichole. "A shame, really. I always thought you'd be more open-minded. At least I tried. Sven walk me to my car. The rest of you… do with her as you will."

Sven's expression as he looked at Nichole seemed to convey disappointment, likely wanting to have 'done with her' himself. Still, he followed Vance quickly as they headed for the exit.

"Oh, and Vance?" said Nichole sweetly. He turned around slightly, and she gave him a snarky smile. "For the record, I'm pretty sure _my _boss _can _beat up your boss."

Vance didn't answer. He simply followed Sven out the door and slammed it behind him.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The Present**

As his pawns advanced on the three heroes, the Porcurian's hand closed around an unopened bag of chips that had fallen under the desk. _Meh, _he thought. Chile-Cheese Frito chips. He was a little disappointed, having hoped for Funions, but he tore the bag open regardless. _To think, _he mused,_ I thought this was gonna be a dull day._

Dugan slammed his weapon downward, racking the lever with a loud click, switching it to the second highest and then aimed at the creature charging him with its axe. The blast from the enchanted rifle seemed to make it stumble for a second… but little else. Unimpressed, the stone Gamorean swung the weapon, knocking the blunderbuss out of Dugan's hands and sending it clattering to the floor. The shock passed just in time for him to arch away as it swung again.

He looked dumbfounded at the cut it had made in his vest, a mere hair's breadth from his flesh.

"I see you're noticing that, despite their appearance, these constructs are still stone, and they can take far more punishment than their living counterparts. These might even have _military _applications."

It was impossible to tell if Larfroz was talking to them or whatever audience he was recording it for, but Nichole took this to heart, gripping her sword with both hands, and focusing intently on the one in front of her while lifting it above her head. She had only done this technique twice, and both times were on training dummies. Normally, she'd hesitate to use it on a living, breathing foe, but she doubted this thing was any brighter than those dummies anyway.

"Come and get me you overgrown paperweight!" she shouted. It complied, and as it lunged, she brought the sword down, crashing through its shoulder with a blaze of searing, golden fire.

She let out a small scream of joy when she saw the creature's arm - and the mourning star it had held - fall to the ground with a loud "thud". _It worked! _she thought.

Unfortunately, be that as it may, she didn't notice that the stone soldier was just as unimpressed as the other one, up until the instant its _other _arm sent its fist into her jaw, and she tumbled backwards.

"Ow," she grunted.

"Good effort!" commented Larfroz, "but as you can see, ineffective." The golem paused, picking up its weapon with its other hand. "You see, with no brain or even a _primitive _nervous system, these constructs _ignore _pain, and a severed limb can be repaired with only some rivets and cement."

Then a much stronger blast hit the golem and blew it to shards. Dugan had recovered his weapon, and it was now on the _highest_ setting. Nichole gave Dugan a thumbs up before scrambling to her feet.

"...within reason, of course," grumbled Larfroz.

"Durable as stone, eh?" said Fawley. "Well, you know what they say, Paper Covers Rock."

"What do you -" started the Porcurian.

But Fawley was _way _ahead of him. He cracked his knuckles again, and blurted out another quick incantation, thrusting his palms forward as what looked like blue and pink streamers and a cloud of confetti spiraled out of the palms in corkscrew loops, snagging and then constricting the stone soldier with the sickle-blades.

He grunted a little, as the golem was indeed very strong, but the magical streamers tightened, until he grit his teeth and threw his arms down to his sides with one final magical command, causing the streamers to slice the stone soldier into three pieces, which clattered to the floor.

He stopped for a moment to wipe his brow, that rather potent spell and the lightning bolts he used a few minutes earlier having taken a lot out of him. He was _very _unprepared as the third one bull-rushed him, knocking him on his face. The wizard groaned and held his head, even as the golem prepared to crush him with its mace. "Yo, ugly!" shouted Nichole. She swung her sword at the golem's torso… But this time, the sword was smashed to pieces on impact.

"Well, seems Rock still Crushes Scissors," gloated Larfroz.

At least she got its attention away from Fawley, but _now_ she was unarmed, and it was advancing on her. Even worse, so was the fourth one.

Nichole now had little area to even dodge, each of them about to come at her from either side, and with no idea how she could stand a prayer against this thing with only her bare hands…

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The Past**

There was a long, tense minute or so, the Serpents looking at Nichole and trying to decide just _what _to do with her. Naturally, Vance's order meant, "do whatever you want with her, just make sure it ends with killing her". And while they'd had a lot of - unsavory - ideas about that, they weren't as eager to do so now.

_All _of them had dreamed, numerous times, of belting Vance in his face and telling them off. Nichole was, as far as they knew, the only one - Mundane human, Aware human, or Shadow - who had _ever_ dared to actually do so.

Finally, one of the two thugs holding Nichole said, "So, uh, what are we -"

"Shut it, Roy!" interrupted Dinah. "Gimme the bottle."

"Bottle, wait, what -" started Nichole.

She was answered quickly, as one of the other thugs handed her a large - about 30 ounces - bottle of a lemon-flavored sports drink, maybe Gatorade or something of the sort. "Hold onto her," she muttered, "I want to make this quick."

Nichole guessed what the general idea here was, and she started to struggle, but now, all her strength was _truly _gone. Delia opened the bottle as she walked closer.

"I have to admit, Nichole, you've _really _got spunk. Know this - absolutely _everything _I told you back in that gym shower was true."

Like before, a tendril of liquid snaked out of the bottle, but this time, rather than slap Nichole in the face, it forced itself against her cheek. The freezing, wet sensation left a tingle wherever it touched as it inched its way up her face, into her nose and mouth. Her sinuses began to burn as it made its way down, through her nasal passage and into her lungs. The cold radiated outward as her heart raced, but no matter how Nichole thrashed, she couldn't escape the threat that was crushing from within.

Nichole couldn't believe she was going to die this way. Dinah was going to drownher with a soft drink!

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The Present**

"Nichole, heads up!"

The Shadowchaser recognized the voice as Fawley's, but then _screamed _as an unseen force lifted her off her feet, levitating her towards the ceiling. She instinctively caught hold of the beetle-chandelier right before the axe-wielding golem swung its weapon down hard, the blow intended for Nichole hitting the mace-wielding golem and cleaving it in half down the middle.

"Try to warn me before you do that again, Fawley!" Not waiting for an answer, she looked down and noticed the mace-wielder was looking up towards her.

"Ugh, note to self," grumbled Larfroz, speaking into the mobile, "do not use weapons made from stronger material than the actual golem."

While all this was going on, Dugan was doing more than watching. A few minutes earlier, he set his weapon to the _lowest _setting, then clicked it up to the highest again. _"One, two, skip a few, ninety-nine, a hundred!" _he said, the weapon taking on a blue sheen to show that the old phrase had activated and armed a heretofore unused feature on the weapon.

After Lareth had destroyed his previous Felgibber Carbine, he had put in the standard order to the Ironhand Clan for a new one, standard procedure for a Shadowchaser when a weapon needed replacing. But the Ironhand dwarves didn't work alone where firearms were concerned, and worked closely with the Swiss Juncture of Gnomes, a clan of "advisors" working out of Zurich. They were, in fact, the ones who gave it the designation "Felgibber Carbine".

One thing to remember when you work with gnomes on a project is, _always _keep an eye on them. They tend to add unnecessary and unwanted "improvements" to stuff they build.

Still, this feature, which he had yet to try out, hadn't impaired the weapon's function yet, and now that he had a clear shot without Nichole or Fawley in the way, he aimed at the last stone soldier and pulled the trigger.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The Past**

"Just relax, it will be over soon."

Nichole barely heard her, and certainly couldn't see her through blurry vision that was slowly dimming. She never believed her last experience alive would be a sickening smell and taste of lemon.

She was nearly unconscious when she heard something very clearly - **"Dinah Matterson!"**

It had been a male voice that had shouted the name, and it was followed by a scream from Dinah and a loud slurping sound, followed by the thugs letting go and someone else catching her. She started coughing and spitting, the one who had caught her ordering her to "stay down!" as she heard more angry shouts, and then the sound of a fight.

She opened her eyes slowly; Dinah seemed to have disappeared, but her clothes and the now-spilled bottle of liquid had somehow fallen in a heap on the floor; the Serpents had been ambushed, but by whom, she had no idea.

Years later, she would remember this day as the first time she met the Shadowchasers.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**The Present **

It was a few seconds before Dugan's eyes and ears refocused. The recoil from his weapon's powerful blast of energy had slammed him against the wall behind, but at least it had blown the fourth stone soldier to pieces.

"Ugh, I am _never _doing that again," he groaned.

Unfortunately, this was not hyperbole. As he lifted the weapon again, he saw the muzzle of the gun had literally _melted _from the blast. _Damn gnomes, _he thought.

"You humans are _so _amusing," said the Porcurian. Nichole leapt to the floor as the demon-pig finally stood up. "I suppose we'll have to do this the hard way."

Then, he slammed his fist against the altar behind him, and the wall behind it started to crack and crumble.

"No…" gasped Nichole. It seemed the wall had been another recent construction, which divided this chamber into two sections. The second section used to store three other stone soldiers; two of them were twice the size of the first four, the third easily _three _times as large. And revealing them seemed to have caused them to animate, the gemstones in their foreheads filling the room with sickening green light. One of them made a step forward, causing the whole chamber to tremble.

"I call this version a 'stone behemoth'. An appropriate name, wouldn't you say? I didn't have time to have them sculpted into anything special, so aesthetics will have to wait. CRUSH them!"

"Uh, any ideas guys?" asked Nichole.

"We make peace with the world and accept death," replied Fawley.

_Damn it, _thought Nichole. She looked up at the huge golems, not exactly what she envisioned would be the final foe she would face. She was trembling with fright…

_Wait, _she thought.

That was _not _why she was trembling. Come to think of it, the _whole room_ was trembling. Then it started to tremble more, then _shake. _The chandelier above started to sway, the lamp fell off the desk, and dust and stones started to fall from the ceiling.

"What the bloody blazes is going on?" shouted the Porcurian.

Then, the ceiling above split with a loud, boring noise, and a _huge _mecha dropped down from above, landing on the desk and crushing it.

It reminded them of the Gnomish Pulverizer, but larger, and seemed much more recently built. While still composed of clockwork parts and powered with a steam engine, it seemed a far newer model too, as if someone had augmented the older Pulverizer with modern technology (and the sneer on the Porcurian's face indicated that this was, indeed, another of his projects). The left arm had a drill in place of a hand, much like the last did, while the right had a cannon turret with three barrels.

Most importantly, the top had a cockpit with a seat for an actual driver to operate it. And to Dugan and Nichole's relief, the operator was Francis.

"Hey, everyone!" he announced. "Look what we found!"

"Gee, Francis, didn't know you could pilot one of those things!"

"That kinda makes two of us, Nichole," replied Francis. The mecha's arms rose, the drill starting to spin. "But it seems they made this with idiot-proof design!"

"Yeah, that's what I figured when I told those _idiot _hobgoblins to design it," mumbled Larfroz. "When I get my hands on them…"

"Uh, Francis," said Dugan, "if you would, please?"

"Eh?" he said. Then he noticed one of the behemoths lunging at him. "Oh, right." The drill started to spin, and he plunged it into the center of the beast's torso.

"Professor! Shadowchasers! Over here!"

Mr. Naicht's voice tore them away from Francis, and they saw him by one of the cells. They ran towards him, dodging a swinging fist from the larger behemoth in the process. Even before they got halfway, Naicht started to bend the bars to the cell.

"Oh, thank the gods, you -" started one of the elven prisoners.

"Uh, no, Charlotte, not yet" interrupted Fawley. "You aren't coming out; _we _are coming in _there_."

"Say what?" asked Nichole.

"You want to stay out here?" asked Naicht.

The behemoth that had engaged the mecha collapsed behind them with a hole bored through the center, smashing to pieces on impact.

"Good point," said Nichole with a nod.

Once they were inside, Naicht straightened the bars, then wiped his brow and said, "We'll try to finish this fast."

"Behind you!" screamed the elf.

Naicht's eyes glowed, and he blurted out a command in Terran as he struck the behemoth with an open palm. From the point of impact, cracks spread from his palm, over the torso; he repeated the move again, and then a third time, the cracks extending to the limbs, before it collapsed into a pile of stones.

"Like I said," Fawley remarked, "he has a way with this sort of thing."

Meanwhile, Larfroz was fumbling with a key under the desk, covering his head as part of the largest behemoth's arm crashed next to his desk. "Come on, come on you stupid," he said, before finally fitting it and turning. "There!"

A flashing light and loud rumbling sound told him the three drawbridges outside were lowering. He got up, just as the remains of the largest golem was demolished. If there was ever a time for the Porcine to retreat and cut his losses, this was it.

But he didn't get far. Naicht was in his way and the genasi slugged him on the chin, throwing the demon against the bars of the cell where his allies had holed up. He got up again, only for them _and _the prisoners to grab hold of him.

"You miserable little -" the words after that were a horribly vile series of expletives. He wrenched himself free and stumbled away from them. "I'm gonna -"

What he forgot was his bodyguards had been demolished, and Francis now had the mecha's sights on him. Three spheres the size of baseballs shot from the turret arm, hitting the demon, exploding into a thick, gooey adhesive.

"Gross," said Nichole, straining her neck to see the Porcine gooed to the wall next to the cell.

The turret arm was still focused on Larfroz, as Francis pondered over the controls. "Damn, thought that one wasn't the switch for the flamethrower? Maybe it's _this _one?"

"I give up…" moaned Larfroz.

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**The Present**

Several minutes later, the prisoners had been freed from the cells, and there was a lot of hugging amongst Fawley, Naicht, and the students. One of the freed gnome captives was hugging Starbrow, the puppy affectionately lapping her face.

"Thank Corellon you came!" sobbed Charlotte.

"You _do _realize you four are going to have detention for the next month," he added.

"Uh, Fawley, we have a problem," said Dugan.

Unfortunately, Fawley saw this too. All the prisoners were young adults. None were children.

"Where's the kids, fatboy?" growled Francis, grabbing the Larfroz the collar. "Tell me or I'll kick your fat ass from here to Pakistan."

"And then _I'll _kick it even further!" added Nichole.

The demon replied with a toothy grin, and answered, "Well, since you asked so politely." He growled, then tore his arm free of the adhesive goo, ripping off the sleeve of his suit and muttering a cuss word in some other tongue. "They were the first lot. Just go over those bridges then walk about thirty feet to the big door; you can't miss it."

The last thing they had expected was a direct answer, and Dugan smelled a rat. "What's the catch?" he asked.

"Well, tell me," said Larfroz. "You're probably looking at me and thinking, 'this guy is some greedy selfish monster who runs a slave ring, scum of the earth', right?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Well, then, what does it usually mean when scum like me is open and truthful?"

"They're stalling for time?" asked Fawley

"They're batshit insane?" asked Francis.

"They know something we don't?" asked Nichole.

"Bingo," said Larfroz, indicating Nichole. He wrenched his other arm free, and they backed away from him. "That answer came closest. But since I'm so, heh-heh, generous, I'll tell you anyway." He cleared his throat. "Catch is, Ghulertas doesn't like gatecrashers. He's got _twenty _bodyguards in there, and in case you're thinking of using _that," _he pointed to the mecha, "they have _three _of those with them."

"And just who is Ghulertas?"

"Somebody I'd only rat out if I _was _batshit crazy."

Then he _completely _tore free of the adhesive, panting heavily and daring them to come closer.

Nichole sighed. "Don't think this guy is gonna help us much. What should we do with him?"

"I think we all know the answer to that," replied Francis.

"Oh, I'd like to see you _try_ it," said the demon.

Five minutes later, the cell slammed shut with the bruised and humiliated Porcurian inside.

"All right, everyone, this is something of a problem," started Dugan. "My weapon is junked, Nichole's weapon is junked -"

"...my spells are almost depleted," added Fawley.

"...and we've got at least twenty thugs to deal with on the other side of that bridge."

"And we certainly can't bring _them _in there with us," added Nichole.

That was likely the most important point. The fifteen rescued prisoners were all malnourished and disheveled, and some had been beaten. They needed medical attention fast and taking them into the bizarre would be folly. Leaving them here would be just as dangerous; if there was one thing Dugan had learned about a hostage situation, rescuing someone only to abandon him often put them in a worse situation.

"We're running out of time, and we're wasting more of it dilly-dallying here," said Dugan. He looked over towards the desk, or rather, what was left of it. "Francis, help me with this."

Francis got the idea and they pushed the broken parts of the desk aside. Dugan spotted Larfroz's mobile and picked it up - he had a feeling there were numbers on it they could use later.

For now, there was one intact device he was interested in, the safe. It seemed typical enough at first, about 3x3x3 with a numerical keyboard on the front to input a combination, and four colored buttons underneath. Each of the ten smaller buttons represented a number and three letters, the colored buttons used to indicate which digit (first, second, third, or fourth) the button would input (except the zero key, which only had two letters). But there were also several magical runes, many of them with fancy sigils drawn within.

"Oh, brother, that safe is made of Baatorian steel," said Fawley, "and those runes… I don't even think the Academy even _has _a class that teaches Abjuration magic that potent."

"Not the type of thing you'd buy at the Sharper Image, I assume?" asked Dugan.

"Even _renting _one at the bank will set you back 200 Sovereigns a month. You're not opening _this _unless you know the combination."

Dugan unfolded the letter the Morag had given him and looked at the two words the dark stalker had supplied. "Goatshead and Pravemi," he mused, while also noting that the message said "the swine" (obviously meaning Larfroz) had likely changed it by now, along with the claim that he couldn't find any common thread. Frankly, Dugan couldn't find any either, but…

"Wait, what?" asked Francis. "Pravemi? Let me see that."

Francis looked at the two words, then squatted by the safe. "Be careful, Francis," cautioned Fawley, "that safe may not allow more than a few wrong guesses."

Francis sweat a little as he typed in the letters "MURDER". Unfortunately, that was the wrong one, indicated by a buzzing sound. While no trap was triggered, some of the runes started to glow, possibly indicating that the wrong code had armed them.

"Forget it, kid," said Larfroz with a wry smirk, "only Ghulertas and I know that combination."

"Hold on," he said. "Ghulertas? Anyone got a pen?"

Fawley always had one at hand, so that wasn't an issue. Francis wrote down the word "Gulertas" (how he assumed it was spelled at first) on the paper and looked at it for a minute, everyone wondering just what in the world he was up to.

He looked puzzled for a minute, but then made a small adjustment to that name, putting an "h" after the first letter, making it "Ghulertas".

"Everyone cross your fingers," he said, and carefully typed in "SLAUGHTER". There was a soft click, then a louder one, and to their delight, it opened!

"How did you -" started Nichole.

"Tell you later," Francis interrupted.

It seemed they had struck gold. The inside of the safe seemed enchanted in a different way, holding about four times what the outside suggested. There were dozens of envelopes and stacks of papers, along with wads of paper money, all of it Cauldron's currency. And, as Francis had expected, there was one more of those dogeared paperback books.

"Gotta give you credit, Larfroz, you have _unique _taste in reading material."

"Stay away from that!" bellowed the Porcurian. Dugan ignored him, taking the contents out and placing the cash in one pile and the documents in another.

"So, I suppose the plan now is to go in there, pose as customers, and buy the prisoners back?" asked Nichole.

"No, that is what _you _and Francis will be doing," explained Dugan. "In case something goes bad, you're the best fighter here, and Nichole is the one with the healing magic."

"Understood," said Francis with a nod.

"Mr. Naicht, you go with them for backup," added Fawley, "i assume you've still got some spells left?" Naicht simply nodded in the affirmative.

"While you're doing that," continued Dugan, "Fawley and I will head back to the surface and get these folks to safety. Hopefully Jenya will have brought reinforcements by then. Just don't get carried away."

"We won't do anything you wouldn't do, chief," added Nichole.

While this plan wasn't as reassuring as they'd hoped, it was the best they had. Dugan told them "Good luck", and his two proteges made their way back to the chasm with the bridges.

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**The Past**

_What just happened? _thought Nichole.

She had no idea who these two men and one woman were, but they had saved her life, and had effortlessly taken down the Serpents. Right now, one of them was bandaging her hand, and another - the one who had torn her away from Dinah - was talking into an odd gauntlet that covered his right hand.

"_Well, Karl, to absolutely nobody's surprise," _said a voice from the odd glove, _"Vance gave us the slip. His car just turned into a side street and was gone."_

"Unbelievable," replied Karl. "Well, at least we managed to nab a few of his goons."

"Who… who are you?" asked Nichole.

"Uh, call you back in five," said Karl, before turning to her. "I am only a figment of your imagination, Miss." For a few brief seconds, Nichole thought she had escaped one group of thugs only to be caught by another, but Karl smiled and said, "Kidding! I just get a kick out of saying that."

"Thank you…" she said, meekly.

"Actually, we should thank _you," _he replied. Before she could question this, someone tossed her backpack in front of her. The one she had left behind on the subway! The one with her wallet, which fortunately had her school ID and membership card to St. Cuthbert's House inside.

The next explanation came from the female Shadowchaser, the one who had bandaged her hand: "Old Jeff had an appointment to go to and wasn't able to get all the way to St. Cuthbert's House, so he asked us to bring it."

"Old Jeff?" asked Nichole. "Wait, big guy with… teeth…"

"Yeah, he's a locathah. He runs a pharmacy up in Joliet that -" She said a lot more, but Nichole had buried her face in her hands, mortified with embarrassment, yet struck by the incredible irony of how she had run in fear from a Shadow who had likely had saved her behind. What she had previously said to Vance about looks being "skin deep" now sounded like the words of a hypocrite.

Karl and his two partners explained further, the signature on the will that Dinah had left for her to find - Stanford Hayden - was an alias of a known fugitive, a judge who had been disbarred for accepting bribes, and also a known henchman of Madison Vance. A combination of magic and conventional forensics had led them to the school, where they expected to find Hayden, only to find Vance himself. Unfortunately, they weren't exactly prepared to deal with him, but fortunately he left when he did.

"For a while we thought _you _were this Dinah character," said Karl with a short laugh, "but regardless, knowing her full name made her a lot easier to apprehend."

"What? Wait, where is she?" To reply, Karl took a small object out of his coat, a small container shaped like a test tube but made of metal. "Is that an Iron Flask?"

Karl nodded, then replaced it. "Hopefully, we'll have a better elemental ward when she attends her arraignment hearing, but for now -"

"Uh, Karl?" said the female. She pointed to Nichole, who had fainted.

Later, Nichole was told that Vance again, to nobody's surprise, already had an alibi that placed him a hundred miles upstate at the time the confrontation with Nichole had happened. Whether the numerous witnesses had been bribed or threatened or whether he had some bodyguard or magical duplicate acting as a stand-in, nobody ever discovered. Nichole started to wonder if he had _known _the Shadowchasers were there and left with Sven simply to avoid a confrontation that would have been harder to conceal. Clearly, as loyal as this "inner circle" of the Serpents were, Vance considered them expendable.

Still, this day marked the beginning of the end of his criminal empire. Delia and the other Serpents (who were facing charges of kidnapping, attempted murder, and in Delia's case, use of forbidden elementalist magic techniques) quickly accepted plea deals in exchange for testimony. Best of all, her testimony was a big part of the falsified charges against Marc being overturned and finally giving Nichole hope she'd see her brother again.

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**The Present**

"So, are you going to tell me how in the world you knew 'slaughter' was the password?"

Francis was carefully leading them across the narrow, central bridge over the chasm, with Nichole behind him, and Naicht behind her.

"Remember these?" he asked. He showed her the paperback he had found in the safe; it was another _Fighting Fantasy _gamebook, this one with the title _House of Hell. _He remembered how the ones Nichole had given to St. Cuthbert's House - having confiscated them from the Serpents - had gotten him interested in the old franchise to begin with. The fact that Larfroz had also been a fan had been a happy coincidence.

He quickly explained how this particular book required the player to find a specific weapon needed to defeat the final boss, which was required to win the game with the "good" ending. The bad guys in the story wisely kept this weapon in a hidden vault which required a password to enter. But these villains were crafty and changed the password frequently. The player would find documents and untrustworthy characters who would reveal either "Goatshead" or "Pravemi", but both were previous passwords and thus red herrings. The true password could be found only in one place, where the character claims it's "like the name of the House but MIXED UP!"

"See, the House's name was 'Drumer', which is an anagram for 'murder'." Francis hopped off onto the other side of the bridge, unto level ground. "It was also the name of the guy in charge, so when 'murder' didn't work I figured the new password was the name 'Ghulertas' mixed up, and wouldn't you know, it was!"

Naicht checked his watch. "And not a moment too soon."

"How long before the eclipse starts?" asked Nichole.

"About twenty minutes. Hopefully, they won't be needed."

As the Porcurian had told them, the corridor beyond the bridge terminated in a door that was hard to miss. A golden relief covered the double-door showing a dramatic scene where one of the four-armed Shadows was towering over an army, holding four enormous scimitars.

Nichole quickly said a brief prayer as she watched her two allies pull the doors open. They were about to enter the place Cuthbert had told them to go, where "precious life was bought with gold", to face the "half a dwarf" bound five innocents.

The Scion of Justice had been generous to this lowly acolyte thus far. She could only hope his favors could stretch a little more…

The doors opened, into the deepest chambers of the Malachite Fortress, into the bazaar.

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_And we'll end it there. _

_Next chapter, Nichole, Francis, and Naicht will come face to face with Ghulertas, the infamous "half a dwarf" mastermind behind the whole plot… Or so they assume… _

_Revelations coming soon, as "Quality of Life" draws to a close. Be there!_

_Oh, but of course, time for another "Shadowchasers Files!" Again, thanks to 7th Librarian and his lovely wife Mei1105 for their help with it._

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**Shadowchaser Files**

**Shadowchaser Files: Artifacts**

**The Book of No End**

_This article comes as part of a field report written by none other than Backwater Shadowchaser __Rayearth, someone who for… multiple reasons has become regarded as the _de facto _expert on such matters. I trust anyone familiar with her achievements need no more explanation than that._

**To Jalal-.**

The fugitive attempted to become a lich and failed. His destroyed manor makes a suitable coffin given whatever remains of him is plastered on the walls.

His apprentices, in between sobs of fear and bleatings of terror, revealed the fugitive had two more apprentices that escaped before the ritual failed. They also keep mentioning a book one of them had, one they could not read and looking upon it made all of them ill. And yet this unnamed man insisted the book be present everywhere and it seemed to be acting as an amplifier for their spells.

Their descriptions of the book were typical of such things - unassuming, leather bound and lacking a title. But they did mention that beyond the headache-inducing writings in it, there were several pages of exceptionally realistic drawings of magic users. And all these pictures had the book itself present somewhere in the background.

It seems the _Book of No End _has been found. Again.

Because the stupid never seem to know when to leave things lie. I can only pray that eventually, the book will kill all the stupid people so that a reasonably smart being will throw it into a woodchipper.

**Description: **The book, beyond looking as books tend to do - rectangular, made of dead tree and glue - has only two noticeable distinctions. First is the sigil on the bronze clasp. It is in Ancient Suloise, as are the written contents. Which is remarkable, given most who use it tend to be quite mad and foolish for magic...which may be the reason they use it in the first place.

The other distinction is that, unlike so many other tomes of evil and wickedness that carry extra duties in the forms of bludgeons and paperweights, it is very thin. At last count, it was only one hundred pages. Make of that what you will.

**History: **It was written by a wizard named Magus, who died in 900 AD.

Like all dark wizards who consider themselves possessing superior brilliance to, say, candles, it appears he was creating for the same reason they all do; to be an everlasting testimony to his greatness. And like all others, its existence testifies to his great stupidity, given it was most likely the cause of his death. It is clear that he intended the book to be an amplifier to his powers, but it apparently was not strong enough to give him acceptable levels of brainpower.

After his death, the book flits in and out of history as a footnote. Some use it for beneficial purposes, others for selfish ones. And all come to bad ends for it. One may overthrow a despot with its power yet succumb to endless paranoia about that despot's revenge. Raise the dead as an army and watch as they devour the very people you wanted to rule.

The Shadowchasers last encountered it over a hundred years ago in Victorian England. A hedge man fancied himself a doctor and was attempting to use it to prove that 'insanity' was a valid medical condition and thus could have the same systemic treatments as other conditions. He attempted to use the book to cause said insanity in his patients to validate his theory.

He did seem to grasp why these patients would so eager to rip him apart once I let them out of the cells. Alas, one of them made off with the book in the ensuing fire.

**Powers and Abilities: **Possessing the book bolsters the holder's magical acumen and strength. Spells that are cast scale about one-third more in strength and duration. _Bull's Strength, _the most common spell cast from the book,which doubles one's strength and lasts for one hour, now triples the target's strength and lasts ninety minutes.

It also generates a high-level passive defense for the holder. Spells such as _Chain-Lightning _and _Fireball _seem to just do no damage beyond singing one's hair. This may tie into the fact many of the confirmed holders, after declaring themselves invincible to magical harms, often perish to rather mundane means such as a knife. Perhaps the book drains common sense to fuel its powers. Or maybe I am accrediting too much a book and not enough to the foolish.

The book's contents have never been clarified, but the common consensus is that such contents are a variety of extremes. _Magic Missile _appears on a page opposite _Life Devour. _It has also been noted that the spells are altered in subtle ways and cast differently than they would from other spellbooks. Casting one of these spells makes their potency exceptional - _Bull's Strength _becomes a times four multiplier and lasts two hours.

The catch - because there is always a catch - is that the book manipulates its owners into believing their own hype and they eventually will attempt to cast one of the more powerful spells in the book. The kind of spell that one casts when their ego outstrips their talent. And failure at such a casting results in the book no longer having an owner and instead gaining a new portrait in its blank pages.

There is a theory that the book is a prison because of this. Or a warning that prideful only ever leaves warnings as legacies. Some people even suggest that if the book's remaining pages were filled, it would become inert and useless.

I do not believe this theory, because there are only fifty-seven pages left in it and sadly, the number of fools in the world is vastly larger than fifty-seven.

That said, I will be following a lead in Prague about the _Book of No End's _whereabouts. Should I discover more, it will be reported.

-Rayearth

**Final Note: **As of this writing, she was able to track the two apprentices to the Musée Arcane in Paris, where Althea was holding them for her; the pair were taken into custody with little incident. However, the _Book of No End _was nowhere to be found, and it seems the trail has, for now, gone cold. Finding and confiscating it remains an ongoing investigation.

**Story Suggestions: **The _Book of No End _is the type of magical item that lies under The One Ring's notoriety, but above the typical weapon used by a villain. It's evil, yes, but not _so _evil in that it eclipses the villain himself. Also, as Rayearth noted, it is almost always used by would-be archvillains not fully able to grasp the powers they hold. A villain of Voldemort's infamy wouldn't fit, but Bellatrix Lestrange likely would. And it also fits the type of villain done in by his own schemes, which often leaves the hero with something even worse to deal with. Watching _Friday the 13th: the Series _and _Warehouse 13 _might be a good way to get the feel of how this item works.

The peculiar thing about the _Book of No End _is that as dangerous as it is, its construction was clearly a failure, and possibly incomplete. Some may desire it for the purpose of "fixing" its flaws, and it may become more powerful the more hapless victims are claimed by its blank pages.

Whatever the case, one constant about the _Book of No End _that should always be at the front of everyone's mind is, _it is NOT a toy, _and many have doomed themselves believing it to be so.


	13. Showdown

_**Hey everyone! **_

_**A short explanation before we get into the finale of this part of the story. There are no cutscenes here. There are, however, a few scene breaks which I'm using simply to pace the action. Much like commercials on TV, these are needed to show when the atmosphere of the scene is about to change and that if you need a break, take it before reading further.**_

_**More than that would be a spoiler.**_

_**So, onward!**_

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**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

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**Part Thirteen**

**Showdown**

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"Francis, hold up, before we go in." Nichole took the pendant from around her neck, the holy symbol of St. Cuthbert, and handed it to him.

"Uhm," he said, wondering why she would give it to him.

"Kinda think someone wearing Cuthbert's cross would stand out in there. God of Justice, remember?"

"Oh, right." He nodded, putting it in his jacket pocket, where it was mostly concealed.

"Just try to act natural, humans," said Naicht, as he grasped the huge double doors.

"Yeah, uh-huh," mumbled Francis, "we'll just act like we go to slave auctions all the time."

Light spilled out over them, as the door swung open, into the deepest part of the Malachite Fortress.

They were in a single huge chamber, easily sixty feet across. Eight thick stone pillars supported the ceiling a good forty feet above, carved in the shape of the same four-armed Shadows. Unlike many they had seen, these were intact and undamaged. From each of each statues' four arms (thirty-two in all) dangled the familiar iron cages containing captive fire beetles, shedding a steady red glow that left deep shadows in numerous places about the edges of the room. To their left were tall double doors likely connected with other parts of the fortress, in the direction of the rooms they'd explored earlier, while on the opposite wall another, single door provided an additional exit. The southern end of the room, to their right, formed a raised platform five feet above the floor of the rest of the chamber, accessed by a staircase in the center of the room. Obviously, this was a newly constructed addition, made of wood. It was almost like a scaffold used for a gallows, just without the crossbeam and noose. Though they could not see the entire span of the platform from the entry, they heard a deep, throaty sound that somehow seemed cold and menacing, one which made Larfroz almost seem warm and friendly by comparison.

"What do you mean, Pyllrak? I followed your request to the letter here."

The three moved quickly forward. The double doors to their left were guarded by a pair of hobgoblin sentries with crossbows and batons, but while they eyed the two humans and the genasi as they walked casually (well, trying to act casual) to the stairway, they made no effort to stop them.

_No plan survives contact with the enemy,_ Nichole thought grimly, remembering something Dugan had told her once before, during one of his tales of his army days. She glanced to her left and saw that the two guards guarding the door had grown suspicious, although they had not yet moved from their vantage.

Naicht stopped at the foot of the stairs, and as Nichole and Francis came up behind him, they got their first good look at the slave bazaar. It was not a pleasant sight.

A short distance beyond the scaffold, near the far wall, were two more four-armed statues but these were vastly different from the others. Made of a black stone that was not Malachite, they were not the tall and slender ones, nor the short and muscular gargoyles. These statues were of bulky muscle men with claws, and heads shaped like tusked bulls, wearing jeweled crowns, armbands, girdles, and bangles. The upper arms of these fiendish statues held burning braziers in their palms; attached to the _lower_ armbands, however, were heavy iron manacles that held three wretched clumps that could be none other than the missing children.

_Moloch! _That was Nichole's first thought while looking at the statues; their resemblance to the infamous child-eating demon could not be plainer.

However, these statues, despite their horrific appearance, were nothing more than depictions made of unliving stone. The obstacle standing between them and the captives was living and threatening. The largest Shadow in the room was a squat, muscled monstrosity that could only have been Ghulertas.

Dwarves tend to be shorter than humans, adults averaging about five feet, but broader and bulkier. _This_ dwarf was over six feet tall, and just as broad and bulky - proportionately - as the average dwarf, giving him an overall appearance best described as "hulking". Even more intimidating was the weapon he was holding; imagine a sledgehammer, but replace the sledge with an iron axe-head like a battle-axe would have, and then place a long, sharp, spear-blade on the tip of the shaft opposite the head. This was an urgrosh; dwarves not only invented this weapon, they invented the style of fighting associated with it. Both the weapon and the style were designed for a dwarf's body shape and lower center of gravity (the reason they were traditionally skilled with axe-weapons in general) and was nearly impossible for anyone else to master. This urgrosh was even larger than a typical one, scaled for a larger user. But that wasn't the most frightening part about him. He was _very _ugly, with a big bulbous nose (larger even than the norm for dwarves), with warts on his face, watery eyes, and a coal-black beard of stiff-looking hair. His arms seemed longer than they should have been, and his skin was mottled and a mossy green color, evident due to him not wearing a shirt. In fact, his skin seemed… rubbery.

Naicht said it first, in a low whisper. This "half-a-dwarf" was also half-a-troll.

"You're kidding," whispered Francis at this revelation. "How in the world would any self-respecting dwarf…"

Nichole interrupted, "Francis, seriously, I'd _really_ rather not know. Let's get this done with."

"If he's anything like an _actual _troll this is going to be hard," added Naicht. "A single _fireball _would bring most trolls down quickly, but -."

"But you don't know anything about that, right?" asked Nichole. "Swell."

They noticed many more hobgoblins around the perimeter, watching them and many other Shadows whom they assumed were customers. Many wore cloaks, but three were recognizable as dark elves, one was a kuo toa (given the small), and some were human.

Still, they didn't seem interested in the current lot. Two exceptionally large hobgoblins stood in front of the half-dwarf, heavily armed, and one of them held a short length of chain that was secured to a neck-manacle holding the fourth child-slave, a young boy. These two hobgoblins seemed to be in a bartering session with a group of bidders that had turned into an argument. The bidders in question being duergar.

A duergar was to a dwarf what a drow was to an elf, outcasts who had separated from their brethren eons ago. They had a reputation of being bitter, cynical, and pessimistic, trusting nobody and expecting no trust from anyone else. This dour outlook gave them a reputation as cruel and selfish, which was often deserved.

One of these duergar was also not wearing a shirt, and odd tattoos covered his torso. Another younger duergar stood next to him wearing laborer's clothing. Still, that wasn't what concerned Nichole the most. Her eyes widened in horror, as her attention was drawn to the side by a deep growl. There, slinking out of the shadows by one of the pillars to the left of the platform appeared something even _more _terrifying. It had the look of a great hound, at first, but only for the first moment's glance. Then one could make out the snarling, skeletal face, with bulging jaws and fiery red pinpricks for eyes. And instead of fur, long, wickedly barbed quills covered its body like a porcupine, shaking violently with every movement of the creature. There was another figure next to it, a Shadow (she assumed) in a cloak that concealed his face, holding a wooden shillelagh - that was the best word Nichole could use to describe the wooden staff he was holding.

It was rather easy to discern that this was the type of beast that could "smell fear", but they tried to avoid it as they surveyed the rest of the place and took note of the less threatening occupants. Larfroz hadn't been lying about the three mechas, which were standing to the right of the half-dwarf, attended by two goblins; one was male, and had a device that looked like a remote control. The other was female, with long pigtails (her most distinguishing feature) goggles, and a tool vest. _Those things are dangerous, yes, _thought Nichole. Her eyes fixed on the two goblins. _But with an obvious weak spot._

"Pyllrak, you promised five-thousand apiece for these brats," growled the hobgoblin, tugging on the clearly terrified boy's chain to punctuate it. "And we had to pay _more _than that just to 'convince' some idiot at the orphanage to watch this one."

"_Looks like this is Trevor", _whispered Nichole. Francis nodded back.

"I'll gladly pay that much for the other four," responded Pyllrak. "But this one, well… this one isn't _right."_

"What do you mean, 'not right'?" snapped the other hobgoblin. "Does he have mange or something?"

"You can keep the reservation deposit," replied Pyllrak, "but only a thousand for this one."

The second hobgoblin cursed in his own language, but then growled, "Fine, fine them, assuming nobody else wants to bid on this one -"

"That's our cue," whispered Francis, then said out loud, "I'll bid twelve-hundred!"

Nichole gulped, and they started to ascend the stairs onto the platform, with everyone now watching them. The barker gave them an offhand glance, but then shrugged and continued. "Oh-kay, very well, twelve-hundred, do I hear -"

"Thirteen hundred." The new bid came from the stairs behind them from the cloaked figure with the shillelagh. Pyllrak was about to say something to him, but Nichole chimed in with, "Fifteen hundred!" The fiendish hound made a low growl, but the cloaked figure stroked it, and it sat next to him, still keeping its eyes on the humans.

Pyllrak motioned to the other duergar, who told him, "These humans know something about this kid." Pyllrak nodded, then announced, "Two-thousand!"

_Crap, _thought Nichole. Of all the things he could have presumed, why did he have to presume that? "Four thousand!"

"Five thousand," added the cloaked figure.

"How much do we have?" said Naicht to Francis.

"About 80K Sovereigns, I think."

Nichole nodded and added, "Six Thousand!"

"Seven thousand!" replied Pyllrak, oblivious to the fact that this was even _more _than what he had originally promised.

The hobgoblin holding poor Trevor's chain looked him in the face and said, "Congrats, kid, you just set a bidding record."

"_Ten-thousand,"_ said Nichole.

Dead silence. Pyllrak shook his head and backed away, conceding the lot.

"Well then, SOLD!" exclaimed the hobgoblin. "To, uh, Burt, you know these folks?"

_Well, one down, _thought Nichole. She and Francis moved up towards the podium, where she assumed they could pay them. _Just hope we can - _

Then she was halted, as an axe-head slammed down in front of them, and the two hobgoblins darted to the side. Their boss had decided to become involved. The hound got up and barked angrily, but the hulking half-dwarf ignored it.

"While I _am _pleased with such _unexpected _profit, I gotta ask, WHY? Why spend more for this child than most would pay for two adults?" Ghulertas' voice was as deep and menacing as one might expect, and he had _incredibly _bad breath.

"Because they're Shadowchasers. Isn't that right, Francis?"

The comment had come from behind them, to someone who had just entered the room. "Oh, brother," said Francis, "it's the Chancellor of Azakstan."

Jil did not look nearly as exuberant as she was the last time he had seen her. The bloodshot eyes with bags under them were surefire symptoms of a hangover, as was the foul expression she was giving him now.

"What -" started Nichole.

"I'll tell you later," he said. "Look, Jil, if this is about the bar tab."

"SHUT UP!" she responded.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Ghulertas. "Shadow-who?"

"Shadowchasers, you big idiot, you know, like Interpol for guys like you? You don't get out much, do you?"

Of course, the immediate reaction was quick. The suspicious look from the slavers quickly turned into angrier ones. "Oh, shit," said Nichole. She, Francis and Naicht put their backs to each other as the alarmed hobgoblins lifted their weapons. "You know, just once I hoped we could handle this without a fight."

Francis did not hesitate now. Drawing his sword, he lunged at the half dwarf. Ghulertas held his urgrosh before him, letting his foe come to him, letting the Shadowchaser exert his precious energy rushing towards him.

As Francis drew within range, the slaver hefted his weapon and brought down the axe-blade in a descending arc toward Francis' weapon-arm. The monstrous dwarf had incredible reach, his arms unnaturally long and flexible. Even charging and off-balance, Francis was able to adjust to partially deflect the blow, but his right shoulder still burned from the painful wound he received as the axe tore a gash in his side.

"So, narcs, huh? I hate narcs. But I _love _to tear em apart. An' I haven't gotten in a good brawl in weeks."

Ignoring the pain as best he could, the Shadowchaser dodged another blow from the axe, which slammed hard into the floor, and then kicked the half-dwarf hard in the face, scoring a solid impact that drove Ghulertas a step backward despite his bulk and strength. The wheeze of pain from the brute and the sound of the urgrosh hitting the floor was proof enough that he'd felt the force of that blow.

"Well, what do you know, the big ugly guy can't take it." He made a rush forward, and with one powerful thrust, stabbed at Ghulertas through the chest, impaling him clear through.

There was dead silence for a few seconds. Ever the demon hound whimpered a little at the terrible wound this human had seemed to inflict on Ghulertas. But to everyone's utter shock, the slaver was still standing. Francis looked up at his foe to see him grinning with dirty, broken teeth, the grin accompanied by a deep, guttural laugh. The Shadowchaser was so stunned by this, he had no means to dodge the first punch to his jaw, nor the two that followed.

"So, Francis was it? Meh, sounds like a girl's name."

_Keep talking, ugly, _thought Francis. He could feel the bruises on his face coming, but if he could just stall for a few more minutes, the Bright Maiden on his arm would claim the entire moon, and he'd be able to take on _two _of these guys if he had to.

You got one thing right, human, when I was born, I was dropped off the ugly-tree and hit _every _ugly-branch on the way down. But havin' a troll for a mom, well, it does have its upside." He grabbed the hilt of the weapon that had been thrust through his chest, grit his teeth, and started pulling it. "Like bein' as strong and tough as a troll for instance!" He dropped the sword and it fell with a clatter, covered in black troll blood.

Francis got up and tried to punch him again, but Ghulertas was ready now, making a simple backhanded slap and sending him to the floor.

_And obviously with a troll's regeneration powers to boot, _he thought._ I might as well be fighting a tank. _He glanced at his sleeve, at the tattoo on his arm.

_Five minutes to go, damn! _Then his face was slammed to the floor again as the slaver's foot came down on it.

"So hey, who needs looks? I'm not shallow." Ghulertas stopped, holding up his hand towards his guards. "Leave this to me! This is actually kinda fun." He gave the sword a kick with his boot, sliding it towards Francis. "Go on, pick it up. Might as well make this interesting."

Francis grabbed hold of it, and slowly started to rise. He'd known this guy for all of fifteen minutes, and already hated him.

The others had not been idle while Francis was engaged in this struggle, but they found themselves hard-pressed and unable to come immediately to the aid of their friend. Naicht was able to take down the three hobgoblins that tried to grab him with little problem, but had completely forgotten about the three mechas. There was a sound he recognized a little too late to react to it, and two of those adhesive missiles that Francis had used on Larfroz hit him squarely in the chest, propelling him against the wall and binding him there with the same sticky adhesive.

Nichole, meanwhile, focused her thoughts and drew upon one last spell. Most of what she had was gone, cast during their excursion through Jzadirune and the Malachite Fortress, but she still had one useful spell left. Calling upon it, she strained inwardly to send its power out to the furthest extent of its range, just beyond the slightly open double doors. Sweating in concentration, she directed the divine power into the course she desired.

The noise was faint, at first, but it rapidly grew loud enough so that she could hear it clearly, the clank of armor, the tread of heavy boots, and a loud voice. A man's voice, strong and commanding, "Over here, men! We'll take care of the last of those hobgoblin scum!" It sounded like a good-sized group coming quickly closer to give the gate-crashers backup... or at least Nichole hoped that it did, to the hobgoblins who were already turning back to the door, wary looks on their faces.

One of them barked a command, and another ran back to the doors, quickly drawing the open portal closed. There was no bar, but he slid his baton through the two handles, forming an impromptu barricade that would not stop a determined invader, but which might delay.

_And with luck, delay any hobgoblin reinforcements,_ Nichole thought. _The Force can have a strong influence on the weak minded. _

Behind her, Jil drew a long knife from her belt, her eyes focused squarely on Nichole's back. _Time to wax this bitch, _thought the outlaw.

It was fortunate then, that the two goblins decided to use the second mecha's binding missiles on Nichole next, firing both barrels of its turrets. While she screamed in shock when it hit her, they also hit Jil, gluing both the Shadowchaser and Last Laugh member to the pillars behind them.

"Moxie, you _idiot!"_ shouted Jil.

"Hey, don't look at me!" yelled the female goblin. She held up her hands, showing _she _wasn't the one using the remote.

"What, wait," said Ghulertas. The distraction was enough for Francis to get up and belt him again, harder this time.

"You know, Jil, if everyone here is an idiot, why are _you _the one stuck to the wall?"

Nobody cared to answer that, least of all, the two fighters in the center of the scaffold, which now seemed to serve as a makeshift arena, the guests who chose to stay now cheering and taking bets. Francis wasn't exactly powerless without the berserk, having learned how to fight the same way Nichole had - mostly on the street - before Dugan started to teach him. But by now, he realized that this foe was stronger, tougher, and _much_ more skilled. He'd managed another solid hit against Ghulertas, but in turn could feel his reflexes slowing as blood continued to seep from the two cuts that had gotten past his defenses. Ghulertas, on the other hand, seemed to be getting stronger with each passing moment, as if the wounds Francis managed to land were somehow fueling him. The slaver had given up his initial strategy of using both ends of his weapon's two-handed style, instead focusing on all-out blows with the axe. Francis knew that if only one of those powerful strokes landed, he'd be finished.

_Time to stall, _he thought.

"You know, ugly, I've fought some heartless opponents in my day, but you… Hurting kids… You're in a class by yourself."

He was about to say something else but was cut off as Ghulertas' fist hit him in the teeth. "Oh, boo-hoo-hoo!" he snarked. "You really hurt my feelings there!"

Of course, the powerful second punch to the jaw that Francis felt next didn't exactly inspire sympathy. Ghulertas henchmen cheered and threw coins.

"You think I haven't heard that stuff before? You know how my childhood went down, flyboy?"

Francis had truly been taken by surprise. This guy wasn't just strong, he was _fast. _He tried to get up as he ranted, and the half-troll kicked him in the face before he could, causing more cheers.

"See, my dad thought, 'hey, I'm a big, strong dwarf, I can handle these ugly illithids!' Probably the last coherent thought he ever had. Then those illithids thought, 'hey, why don't we stick this dumb, strong, brainwashed dwarf with that dumb strong she-troll we caught the other day? Maybe they'll fuck each other and give us a servant who's dumber and stronger than both of them combined!'."

The image this rant brought to Francis' mind was horrid and disgusting, but made sense. There were stories of entire races being corrupted by the illithids' mad breeding experiments. Unfortunately, as he processed this, the half-troll kicked him again.

"At least I assume they said that, cause they didn't talk to me much. Why talk to a caged lab experiment? Kinda hard to have any childhood when you're raised like some caged animal, but see, I wasn't as dumb as they assumed I was. That was something I learned quick, that when someone thinks you're dumb, they don't watch him as much as the guys they think are smart.

Then he kicked Francis in the ribs, knocking him near Trevor, who cowered in fright.

"Calm down, calm down," he whispered to Trevor, "I'll get you out of here, I promise."

He really, _really _hated making a promise when he didn't know if he could keep it, but at least for now, Ghulertas seemed more interested in boasting.

"I'm guessing they wrote you off as a failed experiment," groaned Francis. Just keep talking, ugly, he thought to himself. His hand slowly grasped the hilt of his sword as he prepared one more attack...

"Maybe, maybe not," said Ghulertas. "But another thing I learned growing up in the Underlands like I did, is how you trust _nobody _and suspect _everybody."_

Francis' "Yeah, makes it much easier to take advantage of them, right?"

Then he gripped his sword in both hands, grinding his teeth and launching another attack. He brought his sword around in a powerful sweep, preparing to react with the inevitable counter with a second strike. But there was no counter; Ghulertas didn't even bother to dodge, taking a thrust to his torso that should have pierced his liver and sent him to the floor.

Should have, but didn't.

"Now you're getting the picture." The slaver swung his axe in a downward stroke that came in from the Shadowchaser's right. Francis tried to use his weapon to parry and block, but his arms felt leaden, his reflexes slowed by the blow he'd already taken. It was too late, he knew it even before the axe crushed into his shoulder, driving him down to his knees, driving a spike of pain through him.

Then, he screamed. The half-dwarf slaver switched the grip of his urgrosh and struck Francis from above with the spear end, dealing the same type of wound the Shadowchaser had inflicted upon him only minutes ago.

Unfortunately, the reaction was vastly different. The slaver gave him a violent kick to free his weapon, and Francis collapsed in a puddle of blood.

"NO!" screamed Nichole.

As horrified as it was to see her friend and ally take what was almost certainly a lethal blow, Naicht's reaction was one of pure rage, his eyes burning with pure, primal energy as he tore himself free of the bindings, ripping part of the wall and some of _his own_ _skin _loose in the process. Charging up the stairs and taking Ghulertas completely by surprise, the genasi's rock-hard fists plowed into the half-dwarf, the first blow causing him to spit blood

"Damn, how does this thing work?" said the male goblin.

"Here, gimme that," said the female (Moxie, most likely). "You have to -"

Then he cowered and Moxie dove for cover as Naicht paused to cast a mighty spell, with multiple sharp spires of rock crashing through the floor, through the wooden platform, and finally through one of the mechas.

"Crap, Ghulertas is on his own!" screamed Moxie. Her opinion seemed to be shared; as she leapt off the scaffold and ran, the other goblin and many of the hobgoblins and guests followed.

Ghulertas was obviously now in trouble. Naicht's rock-hard, magically enhanced fists slugged into him, again and again until finally, the genasi slammed him against one of the pillars.

"Had enough, monster?" roared Naicht.

Nichole had, by now, managed to get one arm free. She still had Jenya's wand, and as she struggled to free the other arm, prayed that she could reach Francis before he bled to death. If he hadn't already. So long as Naicht kept the maniac occupied, there was still a chance left.

But even as she freed her second arm, the air behind the scaffold shimmered with magical power, and everything changed.

The eyes of everyone in the room, friend and foe alike, were drawn upward as the distortion in the air solidified and took form, and a... _thing_ appeared in the chamber.

It hovered in the air above them all, floating in defiance of gravity, a sphere six feet in diameter, with a rough gray skin the color and texture of stone. As it spun in the air, they could see that it possessed a single great eye just above a gaping maw full of long, pointed teeth, with ten more smaller eyes dangling at the end of writhing stalks atop its body.

Nichole felt her gut clench and her blood freeze as she realized what it was. _Holy shit, a beholder!_ she thought. She had never seen one in person, only having seen pictures and read descriptions of the dreaded "Eye Tyrants". She once even helped apprehend and later interrogate a few members of the All-Seeing Orbs, a group of homeless people duped into becoming their servants. But it seemed no third-party account could have prepared her for the real thing. She could feel her body shaking, clearly frozen in terror. What could she do? Even if she found courage enough to stand up to it…

The creature spun in place, taking in the whole situation in a single broad sweep, looking at Francis, then at Nichole, and then at Ghulertas and Naicht. Its expression… Was it anger? Disappointment? Anticipation? It was impossible to say. Its expression was just too… alien to decipher.

But… to Nichole's horror, she saw _one _feature on its face that was quite easy for her to decipher.

It wasn't alone. A cloaked figure had appeared behind and below it, clad in lavender wizard robes and a fancy hood. The bustline indicated a female, but whether she was human or Shadow (and if the latter,_ what _sort of Shadow) was impossible to say, the hood covering her head in a way that shaded most of her face.

Given Ghulertas' stony silence and nervous expression as he looked at the creature, he and his minions were as surprised as the intrusion as Nichole was. Naicht was looking it in the eye, clearly trying his best to avoid panicking, or even looking away. It shifted its attention towards the slaver, but Nichole saw that several of the eyestalks continued to monitor her. No one else moved.

Finally, it spoke, its voice strong, commanding, and dripping with power, but coldly showing no sign of emotion. "I have come for Trevor Khara. That boy should not have been taken from Cauldron. I intend to see that he is safely returned to his orphanage. You can keep the others. They are of no consequence. Come, Trevor—you will be safe with me."

Naturally, Trevor seemed opposed to this offer, trying to cower from it while straining against his shackles. The erstwhile buyer, Pyllrak, said nothing, having drawn back from the scene with the beholder's appearance, watching the developing scene intently. Ghulertas himself took a step as the beholder floated toward him, its eyestalks twisting as the different eyes regarded him in turn. The howler offered a growl of challenge, causing several of the eyestalks to snap toward it, but Ghulertas let out a harsh whistle, and the beast drew back. Trevor huddled miserably in his chains, unable to do anything to alter his fate.

Tears welled in Nichole's eyes. She so much wanted to run between them and shout "Over my dead body!" but knew the creature would be very willing to comply.

A pale blue ray lanced out from one of the eyestalks, hitting the boy squarely, surrounding him with a soft glow. Trevor lifted into the air, rising with the beholder as the two ascended toward the ceiling high above.

Naicht stepped forward, his fists clenched. "Now wait just a minute here!" he shouted at it. The beholder turned to regard him briefly, but even as it did, the creature—along with the boy—shimmered again and vanished. The cloaked woman gave an offhand glance to him before she vanished as well.

For a moment everyone just stood there, trying to grasp the implications of what they had just seen, or just reveling in the fact that they yet drew breath. But Ghulertas shattered that momentary reverie, picking up his urgrosh again.

"The deal is done!" he said, his voice cold. "Now, you die."

Then he lifted it and slammed the spear end of the weapon through Naicht from the back. The genasi screamed.

"Meh," grumbled the slaver. He held Naicht up, skewered on the shaft of his weapon, a horrid smile on his face as he watched the life drain from the genasi's eyes. Then he let urgrosh drop, placing his boot on the dead man's chest as he yanked the weapon free.

"MONSTER!" yelled Nichole. Even as Naicht collapsed, she charged onto the platform towards the half-dwarf, but he swung the weapon once; Nichole felt her nose break as the blunt part of the axe hit her in the face, and she collapsed to the floor.

"St. Cuthbert, forgive me," she sobbed. "I failed…"

Then she screamed again as the slaver's foot came down on her back. "You got _that _right," he growled. Then he sniffed the air, noticing the scent from the slime that had spilled on Nichole from that trapped trophy in his quarters. "Heh, found that did you? Well, now I can get a new one."

Nichole tried to struggle, even as he lifted the weapon, focusing his eyes on the back of her neck…

"_**Ahem, excuse me,"**_ said a voice behind him.

"Wha -" he started.

Then a fist as muscular as his slammed into his teeth, knocking him to the edge of the platform.

When he looked up, he saw Francis, the Bright Maiden on his left arm at full power and the Dark Maiden quietly sulking. Blood was still seeping from the nasty wound on his chest, but that only made the now-berserk Shadowchaser look even more threatening.

"_**Lay one finger on her and I'll rip your ribcage out and wear it like a crown."**_

"I'd like to see you try it," cursed Ghulertas. He saw his urgrosh on the ground, next to the tooth he had lost from that punch, and tried to scramble for it, but as fast as he was, _this _time, Francis was faster, his foot stamping down on the slaver's hand.

"_**No fancy weapons this time, asshole. You really got on my bad side, so now, just you and me, mano a mano!"**_

Then to the slaver's _complete _shock, the Shadowchaser grabbed him by the throat and hurled him off the scaffold completely.

"Francis!" shouted Nichole. He turned towards his ally, pausing as she made a quick incantation while pointing Jenya's wand. The wound on his chest scabbed over and started to heal.

Francis acknowledged this with a slight nod and a grunt, then leapt off the scaffold, after his foe. Two of the hobgoblins tried to block his path, only for the first to be floored by a single punch, and the second quickly changing his mind and fleeing.

Meanwhile, Pyllrak and his small entourage were cowering in the shadows of one of the pillars. The dog-like creature was barking loudly, and Pyllrak himself was trying to decide what action to take. Until, that is, the cloaked figure with the shillelagh spoke up: "Gentleman, I suggest we leave before this gets worse."

"Wait, worse?" said the duergar. "What do you -"

Noticing his ally was turning to leave without bothering to answer, with the dog-like creature following, the two duergar followed. Nobody noticed the quick opening and closing of one of the side doors, less than a minute later. There were too many other things going on for either side to worry about someone _leaving_ the battle.

And even _they _didn't notice a shadowy form slipping through the same door with them. Jil had managed to free herself too and decided to follow their example. _Screw these losers, _she thought.

Nichole scrambled over the Naicht, but she was too late; the genasi was dead, there was no doubt of it. He had collapsed in a broken heap, covered with blood, the blow having pierced through his heart and killing him instantly. With tears in her eyes, she knelt, gently placing her hand on his chest while reciting a eulogy she had memorized, one she had always hoped never to have to say.

She was barely finished when the whole scaffold shook. She did her best to lift Naicht's body, even as the platform shuddered and strained. She didn't even realize this was due to Francis slamming the cruel slaver against its support beams.

"_**I admit, the bad side of Chicago probably isn't as bad a place to grow up in as the Underlands are, but I've learned a few things growing up too. Like how guys like you always make excuses!"**_

"You worthless piece of -" started Ghulertas, but he was slugged in the stomach twice before he could get the rest of it out.

"_**What? What am I a piece of? Shit? Trash? Garbage? You really think you're the first jerk who's called me **_**any **_**of that? I've heard them all, asshole. You're like a kid who cries about a bigger kid stealing his bike, and then decides he's going to wreck every other kid's bike, just so everyone is as miserable as he is."**_

With one final slam, Ghulertas' face crashed into the scaffold's support beam, and the entire thing collapsed around him.

Francis almost collapsed too, holding his side as his berserk ebbed, the rage subsiding. Of course, rage was one thing, anger was another. Nichole caught him as he breathed harder.

"Francis, you -" she said. He was still bleeding; withdrawing her hand, she saw it was covered with his blood.

"I'll live," he said. He coughed. "This isn't as bad as it looks." But then, he almost laughed a little, coughing up some blood as he did. "That was smart thinking, Nichole."

"What?" she asked. "What did I -"

Francis took the cross pendent out of his pocket, almost dropping it, and then looked at it for a minute. "Whatever spell you put on this _really _saved my bacon there."

"Uh…" she said.

"Yeah, it was like pure energy, coming from this thing right after he stabbed me."

She took it back as he handed it to her. "Yeah, that… that's what I did."

They turned as they heard angry shouts coming from the barricaded door behind them. Not the illusory voices Nichole had caused, nor shouts from hobgoblins, but from real humans. Many of which they recognized.

The baton broke, as Dugan kicked the door in.

As he, Fawley, Jenya, and several dozen armed members of the city guard poured in, both the wounded Shadowchasers collapsed.

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_We're not done yet. The epilogue is coming soon. See you then._


	14. Epilogue

_Hey folks, sorry this took longer than I had intended – had bathroom remodeled, a new television installed, and had to order a new dishwasher (which can't be delivered until the 7__th__ due to Home Depot being out of stock, thanks to the trade crisis started by the Orange Idiot contaminating the Oval Office; I swear, voting against that fool will be the highlight of my life). And I was lucky compared to my parents, who went EIGHT days without power due to a storm and Con Edison's incompetence._

_Seriously, everyone's fine. In fact, this writing has helped a lot in keeping me sane. So then… _

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**Shadowchasers: Shacked City**

**Quality of Life**

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**Epilogue**

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"To be honest," said Gregory, "I was starting to wonder if even _your _luck would hold out."

"I'm sorry that we could not get there sooner," Jenya added. Three men clad in the uniforms of the City Watch passed by, nodding to the cleric in respect before continuing into the building behind them.

Around them, the city of Cauldron slept, the city engulfed in a night deepened with the thick cover of clouds above them. In front of Ghelve's Locks, however, a half-dozen gas lamps burned brightly, and several curious townsfolk had gathered, kept back by the watchful cordon of guardsmen that had secured the area. Nichole, Fawley, Gregory, and Jenya stood in a close knot some distance back, the gas lights casting long shadows behind them on the street.

Dugan had gone to the Lantern Street Orphanage to console Matron Catherine, almost certain they'd be unable to bring all four of the kidnapped children back to her. As it was, the three they _had _saved were in the infirmary at the cathedral with the four acolytes tending to them, along with Francis and about half the other victims. The other half had been taken to the Church of Pelor in the adjoining district; St. Cuthbert's House was open to all, but this time, even with a cathedral this large, they simply didn't have enough room.

"Well, better we got there late than after a squad of hobgoblin mercenaries," Fawley said, sounding distant and morose.

"Are you sure Francis will be alright?" Nichole finally said.

It was the first time she had spoken in the four hours since Jenya, Gregory, Dugan, and Fawley, along with several of their allies from the other churches and a full platoon of the City Watch, had kicked down the door of the slave bazaar within the Malachite Fortress. The forces from the city had secured the rest of the fortress, liberating the remaining slaves from the few remaining hobgoblins in Ghulertas' garrison and arresting the ones who hadn't managed to flee. Listening to Ghulertas' vile curses as he was dragged away in shackles made the return trip even less pleasant than the descent, but at least they were safe. Most of them. Gregory's sharp eyes could easily discern the sullen expression on his protege's face and read the deep sadness etched therein. While Nichole was, of course, concerned for Francis' well-being, that wasn't the reason she was so withdrawn.

Jenya nodded. "He was grievously injured, but he will be fine. I believe his… enhanced strength helped him survive it."

"Amazing what someone can do when he has the _incentive _to do it." Fawley shook his head, stood up, and reached for his hat. "Sorry I have to cut this short, everyone, but I have about a hundred apology letters to get started on, and -"

"Professor, Mr. Naicht gave his life so that others could live," Jenya said, as if reading the half-elf's mind.

Fawley nodded in response. Jenya focused her warm blue eyes on Nichole and touched the younger woman on the shoulder. "Do not forget, he made the choice freely, Acolyte. He did what he had to do."

There was a silence then, one that Fawley finally broke by clearing his throat and addressing Nichole. "Ms. Belvins, should Mr. Mills or anyone else in your organization truly be serious about our school…" He handed a card to her, a business card. Nichole nodded in reply.

"Now I really must be going. Perhaps we will meet again."

They waited until he was out of site, and then Jenya spoke in a much different tone than before. "I suppose you want to address the obvious issue?" she asked.

Nichole sighed hard. "Let's get back to the church, I'd feel better there."

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Somewhere else in cauldron, a large mansion was built on the rim of the caldera. It was roomy and spacious, walls covered with fancy artwork and museum quality sculptures. Statuettes of pure gold were displayed next to bric-a-brac set with pearls on mahogany and ivory tables, in front of lush tapestries, next to exotic antique suits of armor. Whole rooms were devoted to collections of historic artifacts from every culture imaginable, both human and Shadow; Native American craftwork in one room stood in odd contrast to kobold and xvart shamanistic totems, for reasons only known to the collector.

But for all this expense and extravagance, the posh estate seemed empty melancholy. Large rooms seemed to lack any purpose other than to display paintings that few ever looked at and fancy musical instruments that few would hear played.

The owner of this dark estate stood on a balcony on the top floor, looking down upon the city below, drumming his fingers on the guardrail as he sipped brandy from a glass in his other hand. There was a small table nearby set out with a silver platter holding cheese, grapes, and a decanter holding the brandy, along with two more glasses for it.

"Letting those humans live was a mistake."

The statement came from behind, from the strange woman in wizard robes, her face still shaded by the hood. Her host didn't turn around when making a reply.

"Your objection is noted, Rivaldi, but killing them might have been more problematic. I take it you remember the last time Bellogos stirred from his lair?"

Rivaldi's expression suddenly turned sad and morose. Her host nodded. "Yes, I believe that is how most survivors remember it. He hasn't emerged since, and the _last _thing we need is a _second _dragon taking interest in Cauldron."

"Half-dragon," said Rivaldi.

"True, but if he is anything like his father, going out of our way to anger him right now isn't wise. Such actions may even cause Bellogos to awaken again, and I doubt he would be in a good mood."

"And Ghulertas -" started Rivaldi.

"- has already worn out his welcome by now. These Shadowchasers only hastened what would have happened anyway. The loss of his operations is an expensive setback, but hardly an unrecoverable one."

The figure picked up the decanter on a table next to him and paused as he started to refill his glass. "We must not lose sight of our long-term goals, Rivaldi, and these interlopers may actually prove somewhat useful. Isn't that right, Morag?"

Rivaldi turned around quickly, startled, only to see the dark creeper had been there in front of her, near her host, magically concealed by the shadows.

Morag's emancipated, sickly frame was now just an unpleasant memory, he now looked taller, more muscular, and younger, and was practically oozing with dark magic.

"Using such a source of power was risky," he said, "but the ritual was a success. Not only did the spell halt the degeneration process, it reversed it."

Their host motioned to the tray, and the two guests picked up the other two glasses; he started to fill them, as he continued. "Just don't take more undo risks than necessary. The plan is about to enter the next stage, and soon -" He looked out at Cauldron below, "it will be unveiled to the entire Shackled City…"

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

"No, actually I didn't cast _any _spell on the pendant."

A warm fire burned in the hearth as Jenya and Gregory listened carefully. Coffee's odd take on iced cappuccino would likely prevent sleep later, but they doubted they'd sleep much anyway, and they needed it to calm their nerves.

"He was _impaled, _Greg. My magic couldn't have _stabilized _a wound like that, much less healed it to the point where he could have stood up and fought the guy with his bare hands."

"Troublesome," replied Jenya. "If I were still a naive, wide-eyed Initiate, I'd wonder if it had been a miracle. But since then, I've learned such things are usually more subtle."

"Someone else saved him," said Gregory. "Question is _who_ and _why_?"

"The beholder?" said Nichole.

Neither Jenya nor Gregory answered. Nichole hadn't mentioned the beholder since they reunited in the Fortress, and it was admittedly the variable of the whole situation that was hardest to fathom.

"Listen, I -"

"Nichole, we aren't doubting you," answered Jenya, "you claim a beholder appeared and took Travis, I believe that a beholder appeared and took Travis. But that only adds more questions, mostly regarding the 'why' part."

"I doubt it was what healed Francis," added Gregory. "The _second _trait that defines a beholder is that they are unpredictable children of Chaos and Madness. Their insane goals are impossible to predict. But the _first _trait that defines them is their greedy, selfish natures and their hatred for all other life. A beholder never helps someone unless it knows a way to benefit from doing so."

"But then -" started Nichole.

She stopped, all of them turning to the door to the vestibule, hearing the door to the outside open. Dugan walked in, exhausted, and with a look on his face showing worry and apprehension even worse than Nichole's.

"How'd it go?" asked Nichole.

"Actually, very well," said the former Marine, his tone clearly not matching his words. "Catherine gushed and couldn't stop thanking me for saving all four children."

"Wait, all four…"

Dugan explained as best he could. According to Catherine, she went to check on the dorms as she did every hour, and after finishing, saw Travis asleep on the floor of the hallway where she had just been. He had woken up briefly but wasn't able to explain how he had got there or who had brought him.

The beholder had said it intended to bring Travis back, but Nichole had assumed it was lying. It hadn't been, but... why?

"If it cared one wit about the children's safety, it would have demanded _all _of them be released," said Gregory. "I said their plans are usually difficult to decipher, but this is _really _bizarre."

"Dugan, I didn't want to mention this until you _and _Francis were in the same room, but that beholder, it had a, well -" She stopped talking, and then used her finger to trace a line next to her left eye, where the small scar was indicating her membership in the Shadowchasers.

Dugan knew what she meant immediately. The Indelible Imprint.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Jalal Stormbringer was one of the most powerful Shadows currently alive, but the strain of living hundreds of years was a burden that constantly gnawed at his soul. Many believed that the biggest reason he founded the organization in the first place was because he felt having allies he could confide in would help him remain sane. But being a Shadowchaser was dangerous, and he knew that, while _he _was immortal and ageless, the same could not be said for them. Many Shadowchasers had died in the line of duty over the past thousand years, and he felt guilt over every one. But while he couldn't protect them all, he could make sure that when it did happen, whoever was responsible would find it harder to escape justice. Thus, the potent curse called the Indelible Imprint.

When a Shadowchaser was murdered, the killer gained an unsightly scar on his face, identifying him to any Shadow or Mundane human as someone who had taken the life of one of his men. In theory, the killer would be unable to hide or deny what he had done.

This beholder, however, seemed to have done so.

"Hard to see, the Dark Side is," mumbled Nichole. Noting the quizzical look from Jenya, Gregory added, "Ah, it's an old proverb in the States, sort of."

"Whatever the case," started Dugan, "I barely know where to -"

He was interrupted by a familiar beeping sound. He looked at his Duel Disk.

It was a message. A message from HQ.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

It was 10 AM the next morning, but Francis still felt exhausted. "I still say this could have waited," he groaned.

"Hush!" snapped Nichole.

The hearth in the common room of the cathedral was burning with violet fires as Nichole fed odd-looking herbs and shrubs into it. Dugan was watching closely while Francis, with a bandage over his otherwise bare chest, slumped on a couch opposite Havan and Illewyn, who looked just as tired.

"Thanks for handling the shopping for us, you two," said Dugan.

"_Thank _you!" exclaimed Havan. "The guy at the apothecary shop gave me a weird look when I gave him the shopping list, and he's a bariaur! Just hope we don't have to do this again."

Nichole started to draw on the hearth extension. "It shouldn't," she said, "the spell on ours in Chicago hasn't had to be recast since I moved in. What time is it?"

Dugan checked his watch. "About 9AM, British time."

"Good," said Nichole. "The chief should be able to do the rest himself."

She backed away, and the violet flames turned orange again, but not as hot as before. A figure slowly started to form out of the flames, the fire coalescing into a humanoid shape, until the illusory form of the leader of the Shadowchasers appeared.

"It worked!" exclaimed Haven.

"Welcome to Cauldron, chief," said Nichole.

"Thank goodness I was able to reach you three," started Jalal. "A lot has been happening over the past two days."

"Yeah, tell us about it," said Francis. "Ow…"

"You first then," said Jalal.

As they hastily explained what had happened, the Shadowchaser leader held his chin and listened, but his expression noticeably changed when they got to the beholder, even more so when the Imprint was mentioned.

"You know who this guy is?" asked Dugan.

"Can you describe it further, Nichole?" asked Jalal.

"Uh, well, round, with one eye… You know, beholder-like."

"Did its skin look smooth or scaly?"

"Uh, scaly, I think -"

"Can you describe its teeth?"

"Jalal, hold it, time out! Ow." Francis really didn't like where this was going and neither did Dugan.

"With due respect, chief," added Dugan, "just _how many _of those things are out there with the Imprint."

"Six. Although I can say with near certainty two of them are no longer a threat."

The expressions on everyone in the room seemed to convey both fear and _shock. _

Jalal shook his head. "Beholders are ancient creatures, their lives measured on the same scale as dragons like my father. And with just as much arrogance and greed. But while dragons only crave physical wealth, beholders crave power, power to manipulate and control others. In the past millennia, I've lost seven Shadowchasers to those fiends."

"Uh, chief, hold up, you said six," said Nichole.

"Six beholders, yes, one of them has _two _Imprints."

Several tense seconds passed before Nichole finally said, "Well this beholder only had one."

"Regardless, this complicates matters. The _reason _I needed to contact you was because an issue has come up that requires immediate attention. Narvolas has just been paroled."

"Oh, terrific," said Nichole.

"Just what we needed," added Dugan.

"Uh, someone want to fill me in?" asked Francis.

A quick explanation followed, of a crisis that had occurred shortly before Francis had been recruited to replace Karl on the Chicago Shadowchasers. Long before the city was founded, Lake Huron was home to a community of ormyrr, while Lake Superior was home to a community of freshwater merrow. This put Lake Michigan in disputed territory for both. For most of their history, the two groups were normally able to share it and coexist - after all, Lake Michigan didn't have much in the way of hunting or farming that each race didn't have in the other two Lakes.

But the construction, occupation, and ultimately, destruction of the Temple of All-Consumption, now an underwater wreck not far from Chicago, changed that, not to mention both tribes falling under the rule of extremist mobs; the scrags led by a powerful mutation named Narvolas, and the ormyrr by a visionary whom humans named Horus Overseer (ormyrr names are unpronounceable by human tongues). Hating each other with a passion and greedy for whatever secrets Tharizdun's temple might have been hiding - despite dire warnings by Shadowchasers to leave the cursed place alone - the two factions started to openly fight, and it didn't take long for the brawling to spill above-water and into Chicago.

After two civilian deaths, the Shadowchasers managed to apprehend and arrest the leaders. Narvolas later entered a guilty plea and was convicted on manslaughter charges, his sentence far less than his bolder - and by the opinion of most, stubborn - counterpart.

"He won't be officially released until Friday and already the ormyrr are claiming favoritism. Rumors are already spreading that members of Narvolas' old gang are anxious to launch another raid on the ormyrr. We need to mediate this whole situation before the whole thing starts again."

"No problem Jalal," said Dugan, "I still have contacts with the locathah who helped the last time."

"Yeah, but -" started Nichole.

"I know, these revelations have left us with potentially larger problems. We're going to need someone to watch Cauldron now. I'd always assumed their self-imposed seclusion was hiding something, and now I'm sure of it."

"Ugh, well," groaned Francis again. "I certainly don't feel like making another Sea Train trip anytime soon."

"I still have one of those VIP Tickets left," said Dugan. "If need be one of us can come back here if we have to."

"You may need more than that, but it's enough for now. Francis, I just need you to do some light investigation for now."

"We can always need another set of hands around here," said Havan, giving Francis a sly smile.

"Yes, sir," said Francis, a little glumly. _He could have at least tried to talk me out of it._

"Just try not to start anything you can't finish. And good luck."

The image of the boss faded and flickered away. Francis could swear he heard the start of what might have been "...you'll need it" added to that sentence.

"We'd better pack our things," said Dugan. He stood up and then turned to Francis. "Look, you know how when you were a kid and your parents told you everything was going to be fine, but you think they're lying to make you feel better?"

Francis nodded, and he gave his apprentice a pat on the shoulder and said, "Everything is going to be fine."

That wasn't very reassuring to Francis, but Nichole chimed in, "Listen, here's a word of encouragement." She kissed him on the forehead. "Don't do anything stupid."

Somehow, _that _was even less reassuring. _A barrel of laughs those two. _

"Stay safe," she said, in a more serious tone. "Next time we're both at the penthouse, _I'll _make _you _cinnamon French toast."

After his two teammates left the room that led to the guest dorms, he stood up and exited through the other door. Holding his sore chest, he walked out the door that led out of the rectory and into the courtyard behind the cathedral. This place was rather peaceful and serene, a comfortable sanctuary where Evil was not welcome.

And yet, oddly, even without a cloud in the sky and the warm noon sun's warmth, he didn't feel as safe as he felt he should have…

**0-0-0-0-0**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Shadowchasers**

**Shackled City**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**End of Part One**

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And that's a wrap! For now.

I hope you enjoyed "Quality of Life", and hope it piqued your interest enough for you to stay for the second part, which will be shorter, and called "**Dakota's Way"**! Why's it called** Dakota's Way**? Cause when you're in **Dakota's Way, **you gotta do it Dakota's way!

Ahem, as for who in the world Dakota is, you'll have to wait to find out. This will likely be much shorter than "Quality of Life", and while Dugan and Nichole will be taking this leg of the story off, someone else you might remember will be arriving to give Francis a hand, and I expect many other Shadowchasers to come and go. If you have a favorite you'd like to see, then by all means, tell me in a review or a PM.

While we bring "Quality of Life" to an end, I am as eager to turn the page as you are. Stay tuned.


End file.
